


Cold Body Warm Heart.

by YourLoyalBlogger



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Warm Bodies - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-21
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-09 02:11:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 63
Words: 82,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/768771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YourLoyalBlogger/pseuds/YourLoyalBlogger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a zombie epidemic, Lock (an unusual introspective zombie and former detective), encounters John Watson, an army doctor and human surviour and rescues him during a zombie attack. John quickly realises Lock is not like the others and both embark on an adventure that will change them both and transform the world.. (crappy summary is crappy)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another new fic and I’m still not finished with And The Stars Shone Brightly. I just saw the Warm Bodies movie today and wanted to write this fic. Idk how long it will be, how long it will take but my muse won’t leave me alone. So… enjoy?

**SHERLOCK**

I don’t know how it began, no one does and anyone that did is too far gone to tell us. One moment everything was normal, there were no zombies, no skeletons, life was probably good. Probably not boring. And then something must have happened; a virus perhaps, radiation is unlikely, a scientific experiment gone wrong? Honestly no one really knows. But then most of us have little cause to care about the reason. If any of us care at all. Being dead does that to a person.

I don’t remember how I died, if it hurt or if there was anyone in my old life that cared for me. But, if I try really hard to remember I can recall a word, I wasn’t sure what it meant at first, I’m still not certain but I decided to adopt it as my name.

Hi, I’m Lock, I’m a zombie and its been one week since my last meal.

* * *

I live in the dead part of London. That’s supposed to be a joke. But I’m not good at jokes. It’s dark and empty and boring. Everything’s boring. That’s death for you. You spend all day slowly moving around, some bodies have set routes they follow every day. Others explore new places. Theres an old woman in the park, who keeps walking around in a circle. We walk all day and then go home at night. Most zombies don’t have a place they call home. They might have an area they spend time in at night when the skeletons, the Bonies come to hunt, but as soon as the day breaks, they shuffle along to do whatever it is we zombies do all day. Which isn’t really much of anything. We don’t have jobs. Though some of us still think we do.

I live at 221b something street. There used to be a sign but it’s long gone now. I think someone else used to live here as there is another flat below mine. A woman, middle aged or older. I’m not sure why but when I look around in those rooms that’s what springs to mind. The same thing happens with people. There’s a man at the end of this street, I can tell by his left thumb that he was a pilot, he had an allergy to peanuts and at the time of his death was thinking of leaving his wife. I can tell this simply by looking at him. And yet I don’t know how. Or if anyone else can do this. It just seems so obvious to me.

My home is cluttered with things I bring home. Zombies don’t sleep so I occupy my time when not shuffling and groaning through London, by collecting various objects. Old books and papers, curious artefacts, a harpoon. There’s also a skull. But I think he was a friend. I own a violin that I can’t play. Zombie fingers aren’t exactly conductive for playing music. I’d call it frustrating except I don’t exactly have emotions.

I usually spend a few hours in my home until the sun comes up. My morning routine is to leave the house, limp through the streets of London until I get to a hospital. Hospital’s are good sources of food as the living make the stupid mistake of looking for resources there. This one seems to hold significance for me because I always seem to end up there unconsciously. I like to sit in the morgue. There’s no longer in any bodies there anymore.

It just feels like I am supposed to be there. Ha, feels. I’d laugh if I could remember how to.

The rest of the day is spent wandering. None of us have anywhere to be. And the only time we do something on purpose is when we get hungry and go on a hunt. We usually group together, not sure why, it seems to make more sense then going alone. I don’t particularly enjoy going on a hunt, I feel like a freak, a monster when I bite into the flesh of a living person. But it’s the only way to survive. And I am a freak, I’m dead and my brain won’t shut up.

I don’t know where I am, I don’t think I’ve wandered out this far before. I better turn back.

* * *

**JOHN**

It started five years ago, a fucking zombie apocalypse. I’d just returned home from war to walk straight into another one. At first it was small and now it seems like the whole world is coming to an end. It’s funny, all those zombie movies I used to watch have now come to life. Except theres no turning off this movie and returning to reality. This is real life. The zombies here aren’t special effects or actors in a costume. They were real living people once. Friends, brothers, sisters. Parents and children who are now re-animated corpses. Although for the dead their bodies are remarkably in good condition. I guess Hollywood got that one wrong.

As soon as I returned home from war, myself and the others with me were whisked away to safety. We were immediately put to work protecting the survivors. I was relieved to see my sister was among them. Plus a few old faces. As an army doctor I spend much of my time in the makeshift hospitals, taking care of the sick and the wounded. Even though we are walled off from the zombies in London, we still get survivors who make the long trek from the suburbs in search of safety. They have to spend a week being screened and checked over and over again. Until we are sure they are safe. Those in charge won’t tell us what happened, so we have to be sure no one shows sign of having been bitten.

In those sad cases where they have we give them a choice while they still have enough brain power to make it. Stay in the compound and tidy up your affairs and then be shot, or take your chances outside the wall. Most don’t want to take the risk of escaping and attacking their loved ones and opt for a quick death. Our lives here are dismal. Theres no life among the living. Children don’t laugh and play in the streets, we have electricty but theres never any music playing outside, no tv’s in the windows. People run their errands and then escape to their homes at night. We are lucky we have room. This part of London has underground shelters and tunnels from the last big war. Many of us live above the ground if theres room.

My sister and me live in a small flat with two other doctors and a nurse next to the hospital. Her alcoholism is no more. Turns out being in an apocalypse can either scare you straight or break you down. She’s a secretary for one of the storage rooms. She helps organises the supplies for each sector. There’s five in total. Government, Military, Medical, Supply and Food. Civilians can live in all five but most live in the last two. Each is colour coded. Government is White, Military is Black, Medical is Red, Supply is Blue and Food is Green. Me and Harriet, my sister, live in the Red Sector.

And this is as good as it gets.

* * *

We’ve worked out there are two types of zombie. Theres the ones with flesh and the ones without. It’s the ones without you have to worry about. You can outrun a flesh zombie, but you are pressing your luck if you try and outrun a bonie. And they travel in packs. All zombies in the end turn to bonies. The last pieces of humanity are ripped from their bodies.

I’ve fought my fair share of zombies and a few bonies even and am still here to tell the tale. It’s stupid I know, to venture out into the unknown in search of resources. But I’ll tell you a secret. I enjoy it. I miss the thrill I got from war. I’m not a bad person, war is terrible. But it’s an adventure nonetheless. And I need that. So any chance I get to leave I take it. Harry hates it.

But without it we wouldn’t be able to survive as long as we have. I usually try and bring something back to cheer her up. It’s important to stay on good terms with your family. So many of us have lost people. Theres a silver haired police officer who guards the medical area and sometimes supply that always has a sad look on his face. I think he lost his son, at least thats what I heard. He used to be a Detective Inspector for Scotland Yard but theres not much need for that now. But he likes to feel useful. Theres also a government official I’ve seen drive past a few times towards the White Sector. Once I saw him sitting in Cafe Z (black humour, don’t you love it?), his eyes were dead, like all hope was lost. He looks as if the world wasn’t ending, his suits are always perfect, his hair never and inch out of place and he carries this umbrella everywhere.

Like he still has everything. But when people aren’t looking, he sighs and you think he’s going to cry but his stiff upper lip never quivers. I asked about him once. He was pretty high up in the Government before everything turned to shit. But he lost his little brother and he’s given up hope of ever finding him. For his sake I hope his brother died a quick death and stayed dead.

The sirens crying, I have work to do, theres a lot of sick people here.


	2. Chapter 2

**SHERLOCK**

 

Everyone’s unusually active today. That must mean a hunt. When we are hungry, we’re more restless than usual. I can’t describe the feeling. When you are living, your stomach reminds you when you’re hungry, when you’re dead your stomach can no longer provide that response. You just…know. I always put it off, it serves no useful purpose except to keep me undead and not deaddead. Sometimes the brains are nice. Which is disgusting really. But when you eat the brains of the living, you acquire their memories. It seems ridiculous but I have experienced it myself. It’s the only time I feel alive.

My door makes a thudding sound. Zombies can’t knock. Or at least they don’t have the manners to anymore. I stumble over to the door and open it. It’s A. Sometime after I died he found me. I think we used to know each other. He used to be a cook, before that he was in prison for a short time. I’m not sure how I know this. I look at him and it pops into my head.

“Hhrng.” A inquires, gesturing his head towards the street.  _Come outside?_

“Nrngh” I reply, nodding. There is no reason to stay inside.

A grunts approvingly and leads me down Something Street and around the corner. Thats about as vocal as we get. Sometimes theres a bit more body language. We try and form words but it’s difficult. Every so often we can get one out.

“H-hurng-ree”

I stammer, pleased with myself. It’s not an easy word to say with a dead tongue. Most zombies can only manage one syllable words. I’ve mastered two. A nods, A can’t speak. I think I’m one of the few who can. It must be so boring in their funny little brains. Do they think? Do they think like me or do only simple things cross their minds? People have the misconception that zombies are mindless eating machines. It’s not quite true. Zombies think of food, they think of moving. They think of moving and eating.

A pokes me, I had my thinking face on again, he doesn’t like it. It’s understandable. The bonies leave us alone because we’re dead, but if we were to start doing something out of the ordinary they might change their minds. If they had minds. Bonies are true, ruthless eating machines.

The usual group is waiting for me and A at the corner. It’s larger today. Food’s getting scarce. Animals will do if theres no human flesh around, truthfully we don’t need to eat as often as we do. But when we sit and do nothing for the rest of our deaths, the changing from zombie to bonie comes quicker. It starts with getting thinner, the flesh clings tightly to the structure beneath. The eyes get hard. Most zombies have a vacant look, this look is anything but. Then they tear away their own flesh. It’s horrific and theres no coming back from it. Once you’re a bonie you stay that way. I don’t ever want to become one.

I’ve spent so much time thinking that I realise we’ve arrived at my hospital. We usually venture out further but one of us most have caught the scent of fresh blood. I sniff the air. It smells wonderful. The smell of iron and warm flesh and a beating heart. It’s the smell of food. And theres more than one. At least five. I follow the other’s inside.

The usual residents ignore us, there are not many that stay here. There are a few doctors and ex-patients that occupy the higher floors. They don’t come down often. Stairs are difficult and no one can remember how to operate the lift. A points towards a storage room. The smell is getting stronger and I can hear muffled voices.

This is the worst part of being a zombie, the killing. But anything is better than being a bonie. Anything.

* * *

**JOHN**

I shouldn’t be happy for another chance to leave the comfort and safety of the compound, but it gets too stuffy and I can’t breath. I want to run in the open air, down the empty streets and be free. But it’s not an option. We are low on penicillin and a few other things, so myself and a few others are off to collect more supplies. Stamford is with me this time, it’s his first time out, he really shouldn’t be here, but there were no other doctor’s to spare. With us was Mandel, an orderly, Rory, a nurse and a few soliders. The detective inspector from before was with us this time. He’s never joined us before. I learn his name is Greg.

“They told me to get out, it’s my turn I guess. Makes sense, I barely do much as it is. Not much crime these days.” We get to talking and he seems like a nice bloke.

“The thing is I don’t know why we stay here, yes we’re safe behind the wall but the country is free of zombies because theres no food out there.”

“Guess the blokes up top have their own reasons John, we have to believe they know what they’re doing.” Greg was probably right. Still, I couldn’t help feeling that we were only waiting for the inevitable.

We visited another hospital before Saint Bart’s to collect more bandages. We were lucky so far, the streets were deserted. It was eiree. There was a back entrance to Saint Barts that we had to unlock. I always feel safe with a key, Zombies can’t pick a lock. I can hear feet shuffling upstairs. Ex-patients turned zombies moving about with no purpose. Mike Stamford jumps, knocking over bucket filled with something rotten.

“Jesus Mike, watch where ya walking.” Mandel growled. Just because they were all upstairs, doesn’t mean they won’t come down if they smell meat.

“Sorry, sorry.”

The storage room is right at the end of the corridor before it bends. The soliders keep a look out while we enter and collect what we need. Theres so much of everything still but we only have a limited amount of time and its not advisable to carry to much. The heavier you are, the slower you are. I collect as much as my bag will hold and wait for the others.

Until I hear the sound every supply group fears.

The sound of dead feet running.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this one is a little gruesome, but hey, it’s zombies so…you probably expected that.

**JOHN**

It happens so quickly we barely have enough time to respond. The door bursts open and at least a dozen zombies leap into the room. Bullets fly left, right and centre, we shoot at anything that moves. Well most of us. A few people keep their heads. And I mean that literally. I shoot at least three zombies in the head before yelling for everyone to retreat. No one listens. I crouch down underneath a desk, Greg is under the one opposite to me, he motions for me to be silent. Maybe we can wait them out. A few of them have stopped eating and are sniffing the air. If they can smell us and group back together, we’re finished.

I see a few moving around, they have finished eating. Oh god, where’s Mike?! Shit, I should have been watching him! One of the is moving towards us, fuck, I hope I have enough bullets left. I sit completely still, my back to the side of the desk. My gun never wavers. I am ready.

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

Most of the others rush in straight away, limping makes it difficult for me to be first in line for a meal but I know there will be something left for me when I arrive. I ignore the bullets as they whizz past my body. I duck if I think they might go through my skull. That is the only way to kill us, aiming for the head. The brain, the hard-drive. OOoh I like that. I might use it. I don’t want to lose my head, this may be a half-life but it’s the only one I have.

One of them shoots me in the shoulder. It doesn’t hurt, but it does annoy me. I like my coat and now theres a new hole in it. I turn around to find a scared, overweight man in a suit, pointing a pistol at me. He is shaking all over, the sweat pouring down his white skin. No one else is moving towards him, that means he’s mine.

I run at him and grab his shoulders, my nails digging into his skin. He tries to shoot me again but this time I’m close enough to knock the gun out of his hand. He trembles all over as I slide on top of him and, here’s the part I hate the most, I bite into his neck.

He screams of course, they all do, but if you want the meal to sustain you for a decent amount of time, you can’t kill them right away. So I don’t eat anything vital yet. He isn’t strong so even as a zombie I can easily overpower him. I rip apart his chest, the blood spatters everywhere. All over my coat. I really like this coat. Luckily the fabric is so dark the blood isn’t easily seen.

My food is bleeding out, he hasn’t much time left, I can leave him, he may become one of us, or I can eat his brain. I haven’t eaten one in a while, and this man’s might be the only one I get for another long time. Plus, I doubt he will want to become one of us. I hold him still as his body spasms and prepare myself.

* * *

Memories fly through my dead brain and it gives me such a rush. I feel so alive. I see him as a child, smiling in a doctor’s costume, preforming a check up on a ragdoll. I see him laughing with his little sister, her hair in pigtails. He’s older now, it’s his first day at school, he’s worried the other students will make fun of his new glasses. He’s smart, more than I gave him credit for. He is a med student now, I learn his name is Mike. He’s laughing with another man, a short blonde man whose smile makes me want to join in.

He calls him John and they become fast friends. Mike worries when John goes to war. So this John is an army doctor. Smart enough to become a doctor, brave enough to go to war. The more Mike things of him, the more intrigued I become. I don’t know why, but perhaps because this John is in this room. I saw him when I walked in, but I gave him little notice. But now that I think back, his hand never wavered when he shot. He wasn’t afraid of us. Most humans run, why didn’t he?

I’ve gotten all I can from Mike. I drop his head and try not to slip in the blood that has now surrounded his body. I stand up as straight as my body will allow and sniff. Still two beating hearts among us. And I know just where they are.


	4. Chapter 4

**JOHN**

Shit, shit, shit! One of them's coming this way, if I take a shot it might alert the others. Shit. He's well dressed for a zombie, but then I've seen a few in three piece suits. I try and move further back but theres no more room. He's a tall bloke, a lot taller than me. Shit why is he crouching down, why aren't I shooting him!? Oh right, don't want to alert the others, whats the point though, he's right here and he's...just looking at me?

Why is he just staring at me?

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

I find him beneath a desk, but he isn't cowering, his eyes are hard, he's prepared to blow my brains out in a moments notice. I think I've surprised him because he hasn't taken a shot yet. He isn't much to look at, at least not at first glance. But now, I see he has a military bearing. But he's at a hospital. Oh that's right he is a doctor. But surely doctor's are prized wherever he lives. Why is he out here? Why is he in the midst of danger and not even the tiniest bit afraid?

I try and remember the name I found in Mike's memory. It started with a J. James?...No...John! I should let him know he's safe. Why will I let him know that? I have no desire to eat him, he's far too interesting. Yes, that must be it.

"J-...Jaaaawnn"

Oh well thats going to impress no one. I try again and succeed without stuttering this time. But it still sounds like Jawn and not John, but I think the message is clear. The message being I know your name is John please don't think this is creepy. I just ate your friend's brain thats all.

His eyes widen as he hears his name from my lips. He looks so confused. No wonder, a dead man he's never met knows his name. I have to tell him he'll be ok. But words aren't exactly my strong point. Well, not verbally.

"Sssafe."

I point to myself and repeat the word. He isn't buying it. He looks away and I realise the others can still smell him. I have to do something to mask the smell of life. So I smear his face with the blood of his dead friend and then sniff him and make a satisfied noise. I try and pull him up, but he's a fighter. He isn't afraid of me.

"Safe."

He shakes his head but I'm nothing if not persistent and I manage to pull him up. He looks over at another desk, theres another live being here. But he's nothing to me so I ignore him. John tightens his hand around his gun and whispers something. And then he goes with me. Why though? What changed his mind?

It doesn't really matter. We have to go. I have to figure this John out.

* * *

**JOHN**

When he says my name I almost gasp out loud. I don't know this bloke, why would he know my name? Plus zombies don't talk. Its one of the first things you learn. Besides Zombies Bad, Living Good. Zombies don't talk, they don't have emotions and they don't think. So there's nothing to worry about when you shoot them. Everything human in them is dead. And yet this one just said my name. And that he's safe. A safe zombie? Don't make me laugh. He wants me to get up, not bloody likely. I could shoot him now, but theres something in his eyes. And for some reason I lower my gun. He could have eaten me already. But he hasn't.

So I let him smear blood on me, it stinks of death. I let him pull me up. And I glance at Greg, who has this shocked look on his face and I don't think it's because this guy just said my name. I think he knows him. Oh God, what if it's his son? And he's a zombie. Oh shit. I hope he's just an ex-colleague. He mouths something to me but I can't hear it. I tell him I'll come back for him, if I can. I don't know if he believes me. But he nods and whispers good luck. I really hope that luck holds because I'm letting a bloody zombie, literally, walk me out of this hospital and I'm letting him. I must be mad, that's it, I've cracked.

That blood must be some secret zombie repellant, because they completely ignore me. Perhaps they think I'm one of them now. The dark haired zombie, with the emotive eyes keeps me close to him. If he had emotions I'd say he was anxious. Like he was afraid for my safety. He leads me down the streets of London, I could escape now if I wanted, but those with us might realise I'm not actually dead. We stop infront of a flat in Baker Street and he fumbles with the door knob. I'll shoot him when I get inside. This has to be some sort of ploy. But... zombies don't plot. What is he?

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

I'm pleased he stayed with me and glad the other's didn't notice. Im bringing home a human, why must I be so strange? None of the others have ever done that. Pieces of a human maybe, leftovers spoil quickly though. I arrive at my home, just as the sun disappears behind the buildings. Why can't I open this door? Come on hand, work with me here. That's it, well done! I pull him inside and close the door. I stumble into what used to be the living room and put my new found treasure on the mantlepiece, its an old cluedo board. But it keeps falling off the mantlepiece so I stab it into the wall. There, serves you right.

John just stares at me. I confuse him. But I think I fascinate him to because his gaze  softens.

"What are you?" He asks, moving around the room, keeping his back away from me. I don't know. I'm a freak. I shrug and he shakes his head.

"How do you know my name?...Fuck why am I asking you? Zombies don't talk."

Ouch, that hurt. I talked.

"Jawn." I say, there, prove zombies don't talk now. He shakes his head again, he has an almost worried smile on his face.

"Yeah that's my name, find your own, mate."

My own name. I have one of those. Why would I need to find one? I better tell him, he might feel stupid otherwise.

"L-l...L-lllll" Dammit. I hate L words. Dead tongues have trouble hitting the roof of a mouth.

"L-lllockk." I finally say, tapping my chest. I feel proud of myself.

John's smile drops and he scratches his head.

"Your name... is Lock? You have a name? Oh cripes, what have I gotten myself into? Zombies, dont have names."

I repeat my name to prove him wrong and he just raises his hands in frustration and walks into the kitchen. He talks to himself as if I'm not there and looks through the cupboards. He gives a shout of victory when he finds some tea. There's still a little electricity still in this house so he turns on the kettle and waits.

"You're something different mate."


	5. Chapter 5

**JOHN**

Why didn’t I notice that cluedo board before? Shit I must be really losing it. I’m inside a zombie’s home, except they don’t have homes, and he’s staring at me again. That’s really kinda creepy mate. Could you stop that please? Why did he just stab the cluedo board to the wall? I move around the room, it’s really quite messy in here, there’s stuff all over the place, the guys a bit of a hoarder.

“What are you?”

The words escape my mouth before I realise it was pointless to ask a zombie anything. Except this one shrugs. He doesn’t know, his existence must confuse him as well. I shake my head, I can’t believe what’s happening.

“How do you know my name?…Fuck why am I asking you? Zombies don’t talk.” Except this one did, it said my name. He says my name again as if it means something. Or his he proving to me that he can speak?

“Yeah that’s my name, find your own, mate.”

Ha, a zombie with a name, that will be the day. I spot the kitchen behind me and wonder if I ought to see if theres any food still left in this house. The zombie attempts to say something, but it stumbles over the first letter.

“L-lllockk.”

Lock? What’s that supposed to mean? The zombie points to himself. Wait…is that his name? He has a name? What kind of a name is Lock? Oh come on, this is completely ridiculous. I’ve been kidnapped by a zombie named Lock. Wonderful.

“Your name… is Lock? You have a name? Oh cripes, what have I gotten myself into? Zombies, don’t have names.”

He repeats the word again and I give up. Fine, he can call himself Spock for all I care, so long as he doesn’t eat me. Speaking of food… My stomach rumbles, I realise I have eaten since breakfast, I really ought to take a look at this kitchen. Keeping one eye on him, I edge towards the cupboards and look inside. Nothing. This one had bowls and plates, this one glasses and mugs. I take one out, I’m thirsty too. Hang on, what was in that last one? Is that tea? Is that..PG Tips?! Yes, it is!

“Brilliant!”

I take it out and search for the kettle. There’s an electric one in the corner and fantastically it still works. Oh God how I need tea, and proper tea. Whatever we have back in the compound, its not proper tea. The zombie, Lock I suppose I should think of him as that now, is watching me. He seems very curious for a zombie. He really is something new.

The minute its done, I waste no time in making it, savouring the delicious smells that drift into my nose. Oh yes, this is the good stuff, right here. I bring it to my lips and take a sip. Oh God Yes. Oh shit, did I say that out loud. I must have because the zombie-Lock, is looking confused again. I just realised how british this is. It’s a zombie apocalypse, I’m with a zombie, and I’m drinking tea.

“I’d offer you some mate but I think you prefer blood to tea.”

I climb into one of the small chairs near the fireplace. Wow, this is really comfortable. The z..Lock, perches on the other one and keeps watching me, or watching my tea. I can see him sniffing and wrinkling his nose. In disgust of the tea? Or in disgust that he can’t smell it. My hand never leaves my gun though, just because he seems harmless, doesn’t mean he is.

I’ll drink this tea, then decide where to take things next. Its too dark now to leave, maybe there’s a bed I can kip in till tomorrow.

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

I wonder what he’s doing. It strikes a cord. Tea. He’s making tea. He’s making funny sounds, I think he is enjoying it. I watch him as he sits in one of my chairs and drinks this, tea stuff. I wonder what it smells like. I try sniffing it but it doesn’t really smell appealing. He says he’d offer me some but I would probably prefer blood. No John, that’s vampires.

I want to talk to him, but nothing springs to my useless mind so I try not to look to creepy when I stare at it. Every time he realises I am, I look away. It happens so many times he starts to laugh. It’s a nice sound. I stare at the ground while he finishes his tea and sets it on the little table next to him. He looks tired. I suppose it’s getting quite late for the living. He probably wants to sleep. And dream. There are two bedrooms here and zombies don’t sleep. I should tell him.

“Sssleeep?” I inquire, hoping he gets the message.

“Me? Yeah, actually, have you got a bed?”

It seems he is still finding it unbelievable to attempt a conversation with the living dead. I nod and get off my chair. I lead him towards a short staircase. There’s an empty bedroom upstairs. There is one on this level but the bed is covered with my stolen items. I follow him slowly up the stairs, I’m not as quick as him. John opens the door and coughs, a fine layer of dust covers everything.

“Dussssst” I say happily. I like dust.

“Yes, Lock. Very good.”

He shakes out the bed covers and places them back on.

“Yes, this will do quite nicely. Um.. you can go now.” He sits on the bed to remove his shoes. I should… I should probably go. I start to make my way out of the room.

“Uh.. goodnight Lock.”

I grunt a reply and nod and leave him to sleep. It must be nice.

* * *

**JOHN**

I close the door after him and push a small cabinet in front of it. I remove my shirt and jumper, I have a tshirt underneath and climb into the bed. Hopefully I can return hom tomorrow I know this bloke doesn’t seem to want to eat me and this place is frankly very comfortable. But I have supplies that the compound badly need. I’ll decide what to do in the morning. I close my eyes and try to sleep.

I can’t believe I just said goodnight to a zombie.


	6. Chapter 6

**SHERLOCK**

I usually spend my nights wandering around the flat. Theres a basement below mine, but there’s nothing inside. There was a mirror but I don’t like looking at myself, so I hid it in the cupboard. I sometimes sit on one of the chairs for hours staring at nothing. Tonight I sat around for two hours, stared at the perpetual drinking bird for another hour (he is never satisfied), groaned at the skull for forty-five minutes and then tripped over a pile of books that lay on the floor and stayed there for fifteen.

And it was while I was lying on the floor I came up with the brilliant idea to bring John human food. Surely he’d still be hungry when he got up? And with food perhaps he’d stay longer? But what did humans eat anyway? I knew there was a Tescos not far from here, perhaps I could find something there before he woke up. Which means I had to leave now.

If only I could get off the floor…

* * *

Another fifteen minutes later I finally got myself up and left the flat. It was still very dark but I could hear the familiar guttural cries of the bonies. They usually turn up whenever a group of humans had been sighted in the area. I don’t know how they knew. Their sense of smell was probably greater than ours. Group of humans? Is that the proper term? Maybe it’s a herd. Or a Life of humans. Does it matter? It doesn’t matter.

I tried not to bump into anyone as I limped down the streets of London until I arrived at Tescos. Fortunately not many like to be in the open when the bonies come. I stepped over the broken glass that used to be a door and wandered inside. Most of the food was spoiled, but there had to be some items that were still safe to eat. I’d grab one of everything. There were a few other “shoppers” in the store. I say shoppers, obviously they just walk down the aisles and stare at the food and then walk back again.

Once I’d grabbed everything, I tried to carry it all out of the store. Everything tumbled out of my arms and I groaned in annoyance. I picked it up again and the same thing happened. Now really, this is going nowhere fast. I need to carry these back home, but how? I think I must have stood there for ten minutes before it hit me, bags were the answer. It took almost half an hour to load everything in. Did I mention I’m slow? Turtles are faster than me.

Satisfied nothing would fall out or through the bottom of the plastic I lifted the bags and headed home. The good thing about being dead is that no one else would think that it was a little strange for a zombie to be out shopping. They don’t even stare at me as I walk past. I feel so proud of myself for remembering humans eat.

I had to kick my door open and kick it closed because I couldn’t open it with the bags in my hands. I dropped everything on the kitchen bench and stood back. Now what?

* * *

**JOHN**

I woke up with a start and didn’t know where I was. This wasn’t my bunk and I couldn’t hear Rory’s familiar snore. I sat up and rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. And then I remembered. I was in a zombie’s home. A zombie had kidnapped me yesterday and I was sleeping in his house. A fucking zombie! A zombie named Lock. I leapt out of bed and into my clothes. I picked up my gun from the nightstand and headed down stairs. What time was it? Had I over slept?! I must have because light was shining through the living room windows.

“Shit.”

I had to leave. I looked for the zombie but he was nowhere to be seen. Just as my hand touched the door handle I heard a small voice say stop. I turned around to see him watching me. He shook his head and walked over towards me. I pointed my gun at his head and waited. He lifted my hand of the handle as gently as possible. God, his hand was cold. No, he said.

“Look, I have to go, whether you like it or not mate. I have things that are badly needed back home.” Lock shook his head again. Limp curls went every which way.

“Nnot s-safe.” Wow that was practically a sentence.

“Why?”

“B-bonies.”

He pointed towards the windows behind us. Watching him, I moved towards them. I could see them in the distance. He was right, it wasn’t safe yet to go out. These guys would get me in a heartbeat. Because of a heartbeat. I swear again and lower my gun. What was I supposed to do?

“Stay.”

I look into his eyes. Zombies shouldn’t have such emotive eyes. His must have been blue once, or green. They were grey now with the familiar dark ring that bordered all zombies eyes. Should I stay? I can almost believe I would be safe here.

“For how long?” I let out a nervous laugh. He looks at me with an open mouth, as if deciding what to say next. Poor guy’s gears were a little slow though. He must have given up trying to say what he wanted and held up three fingers.

“Three days?”

He nods and I sigh. Fine, three days it is then. But I’m gonna need to get food as soon as possible. My stomach won’t stop complaining. It must have been loud enough for him to hear because he moved towards the kitchen and pointed at some plastic bags. Did he actually go shopping? What the fuck is this guy?!

“You went shopping? You?”He nods and presses a bag into my hand.

It’s filled with tea.


	7. Chapter 7

**SHERLOCK**

If I could sigh a sigh of relief I would be doing so right now. He was going to stay! I had three days to figure him out. Three days without boredom. There was finally something fun going on! Aaah, the game was afoot! …I’m not actually sure what that means but it works! Oh, oh the food! I could hear his stomach growling and had to stop myself from growling back.

I turned and walked in the kitchen and pointed proudly at the bags. I lifted one off the bench and pressed it into his hands. It was filled with tea. I wasn’t sure which one to get, so I got all of them. He really seemed to enjoy the one from last night and the noises he made whilst drinking it were intriguing.

He laughed for some reason and put the bag back on the bench and started looking in the others. I think he was pleased with my choices. He kept saying how good this thing was or how he hadn’t seen that in years. I think he almost cried when he saw the jam. I hope it is okay, some of the other’s looked like purple slime but this was bright red and full of sugar. That was good, right?

“Oh you are brilliant.”

Was that directed at me? I don’t think he realised he said it out loud because he looks embarrassed when he does. I think I like being called brilliant. He takes everything out their bags and stacks them on the bench, against the kitchen wall. He opened a box of dry biscuits, took one out and spread a small amount of jam on it. He almost moaned in delight. It was an interesting sound. He must really like jam. I shouldn’t keep staring.

He covers three more biscuits with jam and then closes the box up again and puts the lid back on the jam, but he does so sadly. He eats the biscuits in silence but I can tell he’s happy. He takes a few sips of one of the bottles of water and then puts in back.

“Why did you do all this? How… how can you know to do this? You’re dead! Well.. sort of. But zombies don’t do this.”

Is he angry at me? But I thought he would like the food. I only did it because I wanted him to stay. I feel drawn to him and its not just because of the memories I took from Mike. Yes, I know zombies don’t do this! I don’t know why I’m different. I’m a freak. But somehow it’s preferable than being a brainless idiot.

“F-freakk.” I say softly and he just stares at me and then closes his eyes.

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you. You don’t understand. It’s just, if you are like this, what if others were? What if we have been killing creatures capable of intelligent thought?!”

This worries him a lot because he keeps running his hand through his ash blond hair. And leaning on the bench. But he shoots us to survive, just like we eat his kind to survive. Neither of us can help it. It’s only logical. He must have strong morals.

“I don’t think you’re a freak, Lock.”

I want to smile but I don’t remember how so I nod.

“Good?”

I point at the food so he understands. Then he grins. Just like in the memories. It’s so bright like the sun. I probably haven’t seen anyone smile at me since I was alive. I want to keep it on his face always.

“It’s fantastic. Really. You are truly something different.”

I feel my mouth twitch but I don’t smile. But I think I’m smiling inside.

* * *

**JOHN**

I shouldn’t have yelled at him. He’s like a child or a puppy, he doesn’t understand. Yelling worries him because it’s probably not something he’s used to. He thinks he’s done a good deed and he has but he doesn’t understand what this means. If he is like this, so…he’s almost human. What if others had been? If they eat to survive and they have no choice, what if they were capable of intelligent thought? What if we could reason with them?

No, no Lock you aren’t a freak. You…you’re special. But you’re existence changes so many things. Even if you are the only one, like you. Please don’t look so worried, you’re a zombie. You aren’t supposed to be worried. You are supposed to groan and shuffle around and drool blood and…you just stand there staring at me and you look so hurt.

“I don’t think you’re a freak, Lock.”

I’m not sure if he understands but he nods. He asks me if the food was good and I can’t help smiling. Everything he chose will last awhile. I can take it with me and share it around or get more before we go. Or come back. And the jam! Oh the jam was wonderful. I need to make that one last a long time. Its been four years since I last had any. And all that tea. I should try some later. So many different flavours.

“It’s fantastic. Really. You are truly something different.”

We stand there awkwardly for a couple of minutes before I busy myself by making some tea. Lock moves back into the living room and tries to play with a slinky. It doesn’t work so he stares at it on the floor until he decides to do something else. I wonder what it must be like being him. Being so confused about his own existence Being easily amused by some things and confused by others. He picks up a hat that was sitting on his desk. It’s a deerstalker. But he doesn’t seem to know what to do with it.

I leave my water to boil and wander over the desk. He’s perched awkwardly on the chair. I take the hat from him without thinking and put it on his head.

“Rude.”

“It’s a deerstalker, a hat. Look.” I undo the flaps an watch his eyes widen as they hit his ears. I have no idea why I had the compulsion to do it. But to be honest I was starting to feel safe with this bloke. I don’t think he wants to hurt me. He wants to help me.

“Ear-hat-t-t” He plays with the flaps and then takes it off his head. He puts it on the skull that sits on the mantlepiece. He nods at the skull and sits back down.

“Tea.”

Oh shit my tea!


	8. Chapter 8

**JOHN**

I’m not sure what to do to pass the time. His books are all on criminology. He must have been a private detective or something when he was alive. I suppose I could read those if I get very bored. His tv doesn’t work, and the only board game is stabbed into the wall. Plus I doubt Lock can play. I do find a deck of cards on his desk though. I settle for a few games of solitaire until lunch time.

Lock doesn’t pay attention at first but once he realises what I’m doing he tries to join in. He points out cards to me, sometimes they’re wrong. But every so often he gets one right. He gets so good at it I have to bat his hands away so I can play. Perhaps I should try and teach him a simple card game. Like go fish or snap. I haven’t played those in years.

My watch beeps and I realise I’m hungry again. I leave the cards on the floor and head to the kitchen. I decide on same crackers and jam again. It’s delicious. I wonder what I should have for dinner? There’s some pasta perhaps. I could heat up some water. I wonder if there is a colander somewhere around here?

It’s in the living room filled with juggling balls and a plush blue rabbit.

I empty it out and Lock grabs the rabbit before it falls and sets it on the desk. I apologise and head back into the kitchen. I’m elated that there is pasta sauce but how will I heat it? The stove doesn’t work. Maybe the microwave… It works! The microwave works! Brilliant. I’m all set for dinner. Then I can relax afterwards with some tea and maybe some canned peaches.

Lock is playing with the cards again. He tries to shuffle them like I did before but fails miserably. He settles for letting the cards fall from his hands and onto the ground. I laugh and pick them up and I attempt to show him again. But he is having none of it.

Perhaps now is not the time to teach him card games.

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

The game with the paper rectangles looks interesting. I wonder what he’s doing. He puts one on top of the other and sometimes in another pile. Each pile seems to have a matching symbol. What is the point of this? Sometimes he grumbles if he can’t finish the game. He takes the rectangles in his hands and shuffles them. I look at my hands and wonder if I can do that. It looks clever. I try and help him play but I must be doing something wrong because he continues to push my hands away. So I set my hands in my lap and just watch.

Something beeps and he jumps up and walks into the kitchen. He looks for something, he looks for it in every cupboard. And then he looks around the living room. Which I always thought was a stupid name. Whatever it is he wanted, he finds it on my desk. He tips everything out and takes it back into the kitchen.

Rude.

I grab Bluebell before he hits the floor. I found Bluebell in a toy store with a smashed display window. I walked past him everyday and then one day I just took him home. I don’t know why. He was the first thing I collected. I go back and sit on the floor near the paper rectangles. What were they called? They can’t really be called paper rectangles. 

OH! Oooh, I am stupid. They’re called cards.

I do not like cards. Cards are evil. I tried to shuffle them like John did but my stupid fingers refuse to cooperate so I let them fall to the floor. They deserve to stay there. John tries to show me again but I push the cards out of his hands. He laughs and tries once more, then gives up.

“Nice rabbit.” He says suddenly. I don’t know if he is poking fun at me or not.

“Bl-l-l-ue bell.” I have no idea why I called it that. I have only named two other things besides that rabbit. Myself and the skull on the mantlepiece.

He’s called Billy.

I used to talk to him. Or try to. But skulls don’t answer back. Sometimes I would pretend he did. I would he was as articulate as I was inside my head. I threw him away once, because I knew I was just pretending. Billy wasn’t a real friend. I think I was just lonely. But I picked him back out of the gutter a week later and he’s been on the mantlepiece ever since. But I don’t talk to him anymore.

“Interesting name.” Now I know he is poking fun.

But he’s smiling, so perhaps his aim is not to hurt me. Perhaps he is not sure how to treat me. I shrug in reply to his statement and stare at the floor. Theres a large area of the carpet that appears to have been burnt. You can see the floorboards beneath. I must have dropped something once to have caused it. Pity. It is a nice carpet.

* * *

**JOHN**

It’s almost sweet that he’s given the toy rabbit a name. It’s also kind of sad. How long has been like this? How long has he been dead and self aware? And are there any others like him? I hate the idea that I might have killed creatures like him. Because he seems so innocent. He seems fascinated by everything. I can tell this and I barely know him. What might I learn in another days time? In another two? What if he learns to speak more. God, what if he learns to express himself emotionally? Does that mean he is becoming human? Because who defines what is human, what isn’t. Is it just a pulse?

I’ve always wondered if a cure was possible, and what if its in this one zombie. This one zombie who goes shopping for a human he just brought home, who knows the buy them tea after just meeting them. Who has a rabbit named Bluebell and collects an all matter of things to try and figure them out. I may be just a new thing he wants to add to his collection, but I don’t really believe that. He may never have made the decision to save someone before. And I wonder why me, how was I different from any one else. Was it because I didn’t shoot him? Was it because I wasn’t afraid? Why me?

And oh God, I just then remember Greg. I mean I only just met him yesterday but how could I forget him!? I hope he escaped and made it back to the compound. But if he tells the others what happened they might just come looking for me. And that means they’d shoot Lock. I don’t want that to happen. Not just because he saved me, but he really wouldn’t understand. He might feel betrayed. Or maybe he wouldn’t. I might be thinking too much about this. I don’t know how his mind works. It does work, that much is obvious.

I really hope Greg is ok. I could have done more to help him.

* * *

I don’t know what to do to pass the time until dinner so I decide to explore the house. Lock follows me around like a puppy or a duckling. In each room he would move ahead of me and bring something out for me to look at. In one room he shows me an old victorian camera, in another a box filled with rubix cubes. The bath in the bathroom is filled with pillows and blankets of all shapes and sizes. The flat below this one must have belonged to a woman. He doesn’t show me anything in this flat. Perhaps because it wasn’t his. It looks as if the owner and just walked down the street to the shops and would be back before dinner. We go back upstairs and this time into another bedroom.

It probably used to be his. He showed me a bloody harpoon that had been resting in a corner. I don’t mean it was covered in blood, I just mean he keeps a fucking harpoon in his bedroom. The bed was covered in boxes, papers and a great deal of other bits and bobs. I watched him stand in front of a dresser and wrapped his large hand around a broken photo frame. I lift it out of his hands and he doesn’t fight me. It’s a photo of two little boys. One looks about five years old, the other maybe ten, maybe twelve. The older boy has reddish brown hair that curled in the middle of his forehead. It must have been at a wedding or something formal, because he wore a little suit. He held onto his sibling proudly. The younger brother was clearly lock. That black curly hair was unmistakable. He wore a dark blue suit with shorts and he clutched a toy dog in his hands. Both were smiling at the camera.

I felt like something had twisted in my chest,  because the glass in this frame, although broken, is the only thing in the room free from dust. He must come into this room all the time and wipe the glass. Does he sit on his bed and look at it? Does he know the other boy is his brother? Or does he just know the picture is something special. I hand it back to him and he gently sets it back on the dresser. I want to ask him about it, but I’m not sure what to say. So I say the first thing that comes to mind.

“Who is he?”

Lock points to the little boy with his curly hair. “Me.” But he seems unsure of that statement. He points to the other boy. But not words come this time. He starts to bite his lip as if he was trying very hard to remember but I stop him. I’m not sure how zombies bodies healed. Or if they even did. With no pulse, no blood rushing around a body, they most likely didn’t. I didn’t want to take the risk of him biting through his own lip without realising it.

“It’s ok.” I hesitantly put my hand on his back.

“No.” He says. It wasn’t ok.

“Let’s go back in the living room.”

I say and try to encourage him to go along with me. He does but with none of the enthusiasm he did before. Poor guy. I don’t even know if he’s feeling sad.

How do you cheer up a zombie? 


	9. Chapter 9

**LESTRADE**

I'd been running for what felt like hours, I was lucky that the streets appeared to be deserted. But it was getting late and I didn't want to be caught out here when night fell. I paused by a bench and sat down for a second to catch my breath. I really couldn't believe what I'd seen. It really can't have been him, but bloody hell it sure looked like him. I mean it had his coat and that blue scarf, it even had his dark curly hair. If it wasn't him it was his twin. Shit.

That means we lost him after all, doesn't it? I mean some of us hoped, I can't vouch for Anderson or Donavan, but some of us did hope that he was out there still alive. I mean, he's bloody Sherlock Holmes. Was..was Sherlock Holmes. But I thought if anyone could survive out there, it was him. Before I came to the compound I didn't even know he had a brother! But the first person I met when I got there was Mycroft Holmes.

He still believes he's alive too. He's clinging to that hope. Sherlock was the only family he had left and now I have to tell him the bad news. But the one thing I don't get is why he saved that doctor fellow. Why did he take him away? Did he want to eat him later? What was it? I can't get his voice out of my mind though. He said the kid's name. And I doubt he's ever met him before. Blokes just a doctor. He's the kind of guy that Sherlock wouldn't even give the time of day to.

Is that the compound wall? Must be, nothing else looks as drab and dull as that. Bloody good timing too, its getting colder and he can barely see where I've come from. There are soldiers outside, the guards I'm guessing, never left the compound before. Not in five fucking years. They stop me before I reach the door and check me over. They want to make sure I haven't been bitten. I say I haven't but I still have to go into quarantine and get a check up before I'm allowed to go home.

Before they leave me I tell them I have something urgent to tell Mycroft Holmes. I can see the guard's face go white, he's done this before and it mustn't have been a pleasant experience. But he nods, he knows his duty. Good. Its not something I want to do, but someone has to tell him.

Sherlock Holmes is dead.

* * *

**MYCROFT**

I am not accustomed to evening tea being interrupted by a boy of a soldier running into my parlour telling me I am needed. I had only just changed into my pyjamas, and I am not prepared to change back into a suit. Mr Lestrade will simply have to come to me, this room is warm and I am not going to leave it. Apparently he is the only survivor from the most recent expedition group. Pity, there were some good people in that group. But no group ever returns with all it's members. I dismiss the boy and get off my chair to pour another cup of tea for myself and one for Lestrade.

He arrives right on time, though it is clear he has just changed into clean clothes before coming here. He looks tired and sits in one of my plush chairs as soon as he arrives.

"This is bloody comfortable mate, you rich blokes have all the luck." Not at all, this was simply the home of a government official who didn't wish to be bothered. Besides ten other people lived in this building. They all worked for the government but I was in charge of them of course.

"Tea?"

"Yeah, I will thanks."

He's bursting to tell me something, but I can tell it is bad news only. But I don't press him for information, I let him sip his tea and wait. He takes another large sip and places the the cup on the table beside him. He sits forward and my heart lurches because I am almost certain of what the news will contain.

"Look, um...I have something to tell you and I'm not gonna lie, it's not good."

"He's dead, isn't he?" Of course he is, there can be no other explanation.

"Sort of..."

Of course, when I say dead, I meant he has become one of the living dead. I don't know which is worse to be entirely honest. Lestrade stands up and sips the last of his tea. He tells me he has to return home now, he needs sleep and could I please send out a search party for Doctor John Watson. I am confused, surely the undead would have killed him already.

"Nah mate, you don't understand, he took him. Your..your brother, he took that doctor and walked away with him. I don't know what he is planning to do with him, but he didn't attack him. John might still be alive, please, he's a good man."

"I will see what I can do."

"Thanks, night Mr Holmes."

"Goodnight.."

I wait for him to leave before I bury my face in my hands. I have failed Sherlock, my little brother has joined the forces of the living dead, I have lost him forever.

* * *

**LESTRADE**

I feel real bad for the bloke. I was hoping Sherlock was still alive and surviving somewhere, examining zombies to keep himself occupied. Maybe he did and that's how he got in this mess. We still don't know what happened after the rescue attempt five years ago. We saved Mrs Hudson, his landlady, but we lost him. I have to tell Mrs Hudson and Miss Hooper the bad news. Theres a few men who used to be in the force who will want to know as well. They deserve to know. Even if it hurts.

Everyone deserves an answer on what has happened to their loved ones. It brings a sense of closure. Some folks are lucky, their friends or family arrived unharmed after surviving out in the open. Others still don't know. And they might never know. Honestly, I would have preferred for Sherlock to not have become a zombie. That means everything he was, is gone. A lot of people hated him but they didn't get to see the humanity he only showed to select few people.

Like when he moved from Montague street to Baker Street to help out Mrs Hudson before the compound existed, like how vulnerable he was when I helped him through withdrawal. I only knew him for two years before the zombies came. But he kinda grows on you. I've seen how he smiles at his landlady when he thinks no one is looking. How he tries to show he cares in his own little way. I don't think he received much love as a kid, he doesn't want to show he cares. Some of those upper class families are like that.

Now I won't get to hear another deduction, won't see how joyful he gets during a case, though usually its about something horrible. But like I've tried to tell Anderson and Sally, its not about the actual crime, its about discovering the clue to the mystery, we just have to go deeper, he was a complex young man and he could have been so much better.

I'm gonna miss you kid.


	10. Chapter 10

**MYCROFT**

I do not know if I can sleep tonight. I am afraid I will dream of him. It wouldn't be the first time. But now I know what his fate was. I now know what happened to him. I genuinely believed he might still be alive. I hoped he had survived somehow, but I see now it was nothing more than a fool's hope. Every time there was news of a survivor or even survivors, I would hope Sherlock would be among them. I would leave my office for the security building and watch them all be processed. But my brother was never among them. Eventually I gave up and decided to wait.

And I waited five years for nothing. Now I have to decide what to do with the information I've been given. I could put him out of his misery. I could have him caught and contained outside the wall as we work on a cure. Or I could do nothing. But then there's this piece of information that makes no sense. Why did Sherlock not attack the doctor? It was unheard of for the undead to not kill their prey straight away.

It required further research and thought before reaching a final decision. But, perhaps this something that ought to be slept on. I will try. And in the morning I will talk to Lestrade again. I need him to tell me everything. Everything he saw, everything he heard. I need data. I must know everything.

Sherlock's fate depends on it.

* * *

**JOHN**

Dinner was delicious, I haven't had anything so nice in at least a year. I topped it all off which half a can of peaches. Lock was still moping, if you called it that. I did because he just sat on his chair with his legs drawn up and played with his shoelaces. I tried to draw him into some form of communication but he refused to look up and would just respond by shrugging. He's a very stubborn zombie. I wonder if I ought to tell him a story? Something simple he'd understand, either a child's tale or a story about myself.

"Do you want to hear a story?"

I ask and he looks up for a brief second, I've got him now. He gives the briefest of nods and lets go of his laces. What should I tell him? I decide on a few Fairy Tales, not the kid's versions though, zombie or not, Lock is technically an adult, though he doesn't act like it. But he still hangs off my every word. After each one I ask him if he would like another. But I make him speak. If he can be taught, if his speech can improve, then perhaps there is hope for every zombie. I also sense that he dearly wants to be able to communicate with me but lacks the skills to do so. By the end of five more stories, he's able to speak in two word sentences He is still a little hard to understand and he stumbles over the words but he's getting better.

"I think that's it for now, Lock. Getting a bit late." I yawned.

"W-want m-m-more."

"Tomorrow, Lock. I'll tell you some more tomorrow. Though, I wish there was something else I could do while I waited."

"T-tired?"

I waggled my finger at him, I'd like another word please, two words per sentence, Lock. His brow furrowed as he tried to come up with another word. He'd learned quite quick that a wagging finger means a halt in a story.

"Y-you...t-tired?" Much better mate.

"Yeah, I'm gonna head to bed...night mate."

I try to smile as I leave but I feel uneasy about my situation. What am I doing trying to teach a zombie? It's obvious he wants to learn, but who ever heard of someone trying to educate the living dead? And what were the implications of this...

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

The stories were interesting and quite gruesome. I am sure when I was alive I would have heard them before. But when you become one of us your memory is wiped. So these were all brand new to me. It did get exhausting trying to speak in two word sentences so often. Once every few weeks or months is one thing. After every story is asking a bit much. I hope he doesn't expect me to do this all the time. Yes I want to learn to speak better, but I'd rather get it right, right away then stumble over every word and stutter.

I've also realised, I never used to mind doing nothing at night until John came to stay. Now time seems to pass differently. I make my way to the bathroom and lie on the pillows and cushions in the bath and pretend I can sleep. My legs are so long that one hangs over the side and the other is curled against the glass of the shower cubicle. Instead of sleeping I just stare at the cracks on the ceiling and the little spiders that scuttle back and forth. The cobwebs cover half the ceiling already. Sometimes they swing down onto my shoulders or my head. One time I sat still for hours and they spun their webs around me. If I were to have a pet in this state, a spider would be a good choice. I would give it a good name.

This time only one swings down onto the tap just above my head. I will let him weave a web around me. Especially since I ruined the ones that were on the bath just now. He's quite skilled at it. Dance little spider, spin me a web.

* * *

**UNKNOWN**

"How many does that make?" I ask as I lean back in my chair and breath out pure white smoke. My hard little work glares at me as he pulls his latest prize past my window.

"Five."

He says. Just five. Well I suppose I will have to make do. I need their brains to find out what makes them tick. Oh to have an army of these to do my bidding, who wouldn't want that. But I prefer to work in the shadows, the people I exploit must never know I'm to blame. Though I can't claim credit for these creatures. I wouldn't want to. I used to be quite important before the war came and I intend to be again should it one day be over. Each brain tells me more about the living dead. How they work, if they think. If I can use my findings to some advantage.

"Look if you don't start on that one on the table I'm throwing it away. It's putting me off my dinner."

"You aren't eating dinner."

"I wanted dinner you arse."

Ah domesticity.


	11. Chapter 11

**SHERLOCK**

The spiders spun magnificent webs over me last night. When they finished one, they would started another. They probably think of me as they do any other inanimate object. Except I can move. I tried not to, I didn't want to disturb them. One of them has settled on my nose and is looking at me. I'm far to big for him to eat and I am sure I would not taste very good. I guess he is lying in wait for some other bug to fly into the webs above me. I wonder what type of spider he is. I also wonder if he is even a he. He could be a she. I watch him slink away to fix something in one of the webs. He isn't the only spider on me. I believe at least ten are. There are more on the webs above me. This spider has rather a large family.

Is it almost morning? John might be up soon, or he might decide to sleep in. I am glad he doesn't believe I am a threat to him anymore. But should I get up? There really is no reason to yet. If I hear him I will get up. Until then, I will stay here.

I don't want to disturb the spiders.

* * *

**JOHN**

It's raining when I wake up, I love the sound of rain against the windows or their pitter patter upon the rooftop. I feel like I could just dive under the covers and stay there for the rest of the day. But I have to get up. If I don't I expect a concerned zombie would burst into the room to make sure I was still alive. Speaking of zombies, I wonder where he is? I pull of the covers and shiver. Fuck, it's gotten quite chilly during the night. I grab a blanket from the bed and make my way downstairs. A nice, warm cup of tea will do me good.

Lock isn't in the living room, or the kitchen. It's possible he has gone outside. Though he will be soaking wet when he returns. I turn the kettle on and select my tea. I'm going for something traditional this morning. I'll keep the weird flavours for later. It feel's so nice to be inside during a storm, with the tea kettle boiling, wrapped in a blanket. It feels normal. Perhaps because it is. I haven't done anything like this in a long time, just relaxing. I'm always so busy, there's barely time to just be yourself.

The kettle turns itself and I pour the water into my cup. That smell is heavenly. I sit down in the chair closest to the kitchen and pull my feet up. The tea warms me straight up but I wish there was a fire going. There is a fireplace but it looks like it hasn't been used in years. Which would make sense. Maybe theres something I can use as kindling...

I should ask Lock first, I don't want to anger a zombie whilst dressed in a blanket, with tea. Where is he?

"Lock?"

I call, hoping he can hear me. I leave the living room and walked through the kitchen to his bedroom. Nope, not in there. He wasn't in flat below this one either. Or the basement. Where could he be? There's only one room left. And if he's not there, he must be outside somewhere. I don't suppose rain bothers a zombie. I place my teacup on the kitchen table and open the door to the bathroom. I'm glad I don't have to worry about him being naked and having a shower.

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

The door opens and I look up, it's John, in a blanket. Oh dear, this probably looks rather odd. I'd explain except I have no answers. He just keeps staring at me with his mouth open. It's quite interesting to watch. He's not sure if he should go over to me and help me or leave me to get up myself. He takes off the blanket and puts it outside and then closes the door. He folds up his sleeves and kneels next to the bath.

"Is this something you do often?" I want to nod but I can't.

"Yess."

"Why?" Ok, that was a hard question to answer. Because I can? Because it's interesting?

"B-bec-causse." Yes, perfect reply.

"Because is not an answer Lock."

"Is."

"No it's really isn't."

"...Is."

"Look, let's not do this. Are you staying there or not? Only it's fucking cold and I need something to start a fire."

Cold? What was cold? Oh, cold is why he's shivering. I can bring in the chairs from the cafe next door and he can burn those. I don't want him to burn my things. They are mine. I slowly, very slowly lifted my head and hit the tap above it. John winced on my behalf. I gently sat up and slowly began to stand. Most of the spiders leaped away onto the walls or they ran down my legs. Getting out of the bath was no problem, with all the pillows and blankets, it was no longer slippery.

There, out.

* * *

**JOHN**

He's... he's just covered in cobwebs. His shoes, his coat, his scarf, even his face and hair. Oh Lock, you are ridiculous. I brush away some of the webs from his coat just as a little spider begins his descent down Lock's face on a single piece of silk. Lock almost goes cross-eyed trying to look at him. There's another spider on his shoulder and a tiny one crawling up his chin. I apologise to the spiders as I flick them off and make sure he is spider free before I let him out of the bathroom.

"Now do you know where I can get firewood or kindling?"

He nods and tells me to stay. I watch him leave the hallway and down the stairs of the flat. He's very slow. And yet zombies can be incredibly fast. I guess they just have to be hungry. I pick up my blanket and wrap it back around my shoulders. I need something to eat. Jam and crackers again, delicious. I could live on this stuff. I technically am.

I think I want another cup of tea.

* * *

Lock returns forty-five minutes later with three wooden chairs. He is soaking wet. I feel cold just looking at him. His feet have left wet footprints all everywhere and he's now standing in a little puddle of his own making. His hair is flat against his face, still with a little curl though. I take the chairs of him and start to break them into pieces. Now to start the fire. Shit.. should have thought about that.

"You don't have matches do you?"

I watch his mind whirring. Lock turns towards the desk and pushes a pile of papers off to reveal a box of matches. Most of them have been used. But theres still a few left. Enough to keep a fire going for a few days. I throw the pieces into the fireplace and light them. I make sure to move the grill back in place. I don't want curious zombies trying to touch the fire. And I can tell the thought has just crossed his mind.

"No Lock."

He just looks at me and water droplets slide down his face. "Why?"

"Because it's dangerous."

"...D-dead."

"Yeah so your body doesn't heal like a human's. So stay away from the fire. Promise me." Do zombies even make promises?

"F-fine." Good. I'll hold you to that.

"Now go and...dry off or something. I feel cold just looking at you."

This really confuses him. He has probably been out in the rain loads of times and never dried himself off before.

"Dr-r-r-r...dr-ry off?"

Fine, I'll do it. Just this once. He's going to have to sit in front of the fire though. I tell him to do so and that if he so much as touches that grille I will tie his hands behind his back. He nods and sits in front of the fire and watches it. I search a few cupboard for towels and find a few large enough. I bring them back and start to dry him off. It's hard because he refuses to remove his coat, shoes or scarf. So I settle for drying them instead. He turns around whilst I'm doing it and watches me with open eyes. He scrunches them when I do his hair through. When I'm finished his hair resembles a mad scientists.

"There, you're mostly dry now. Stay in front of the fire until you are completely dry. Don't move from this spot."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want to slip in a puddle you've made and break a leg or something."

"Why?"

"Because it hurts."

"Why?"

Oh God he's in the why stage. Why?! Oh very funny brain.

"Just because Lock, ok? Just because." I considered giving him a proper medical answer but I'm sure it would lead to more questions.

"N-not...g-good.?"

"Bit not good yeah."


	12. Chapter 12

**MOLLY**

I miss my home. I miss my job. I miss my cat, Tobi. I miss my friends, I miss Sherlock, I miss my old life. Everything is so different now. I have a new cat though, a kitten. I found her abandoned in a damp, cardboard box. I have named her hope. I share my small home with her, Sally Donavan and Mrs Hudson. I'm not sure how we all ended up together, I suspect a certain Holmes brother might have had something to do with it though. It's too much of a coincidence anyway.

I'm still a mortician, but my job is now a despised one. Not that it was all that popular before. But now people spit on me, they throw insults in our direction and sneer. They believe we are tainted and carry bad luck because we work with the dead and the Undertakers. Perhaps they think we carry the zombie curse within us. I think they are well meaning but ignorant idiots.

I have changed a lot since the war. I am still shy sometimes but I think my confidence has grown. I no longer wear pretty clothes or glittery dresses to try an impress detectives. I dress simply and sensibly. My job is dangerous so my clothing must reflect that. Even our lab coats have changed. They are now black. All our clothing is because there is often so much blood and dirt. When I'm not working with the dead in the compound, I have to work with them in the open. Collecting bodies from the outside. So much of my clothing is military. I wear a pale red shirt beneath it though and tie my hair back in a ponytail with a red scrunch It has cherries on it. I'm still Molly Hooper after all. My former clothing may have been unsuitable, and I am no longer a girl. But there's still a need for colour in this world.

* * *

Mrs Hudson always cheers me up when I come home after a hard days work. She'll make me something delicious with the rations we have and although the tea is disgusting here, its still tea. There is always a cup waiting for me. She listens to all my complaints and problems. All my fears and hopes, with good humour. She's everyone's mum. But deep down you can tell she's crying. She's lost friends and relatives. Even a son. She misses Sherlock so much it hurts. She blames herself for him not being here. But it's not her fault. No one knows what happened to him.

I hope that he's still alive somewhere and safe. People tell me I am naive for thinking this way, that he's dead and to just move on. But hope is important. It means we haven't given up.

I will not give up hope.

* * *

**LESTRADE**

I decided to walk Sally home during her lunch break. Bloody wish I had an umbrella. When it rains here it gets muddy and soon you are knee deep in water. Today wasn't so bad, it's only up to my ankles. Sally knows something is up. She says she can see it in my eyes. I call her out for deducing and she replies it was just obvious. And she shuts up after she realised what she'd just said. I'm not sure how she'll take the news. She never cared for Sherlock in the same way we did. It's her loss. But it makes more sense if she hears everything from me and not from someone else.

Her home is so much more comfortable than mine. It's almos toasty warm. We wipe and remove our boots by the door and walk inside. I remove my coat and hang it up on a small hook. Molly is sitting on an old tattered couch, book in one hand and a tabby kitten purring on her lap. She gives me a small smile as we walk in.

"Make yourselves comfortable." I hear Mrs Hudson call from another room. She must have seen us as we came in. Good old Mrs Hudson.

Sally moves and sits next to Molly, who doesn't seem all that happy about it. I sit on a hard wooden chair by the window. Mrs Hudson comes in a tray of steaming hot coffee. I take the blue mug with the dancing cows and thank her.

"Now what brings you all the way out here, Mr Lestrade?"

"Greg, just Greg is fine." She waves a hand at me and sits down.

"Well...I have some news.:

"It's bad news isn't it?" Molly can see it in my eyes too. Damn deductions. I nod.

"Yeah, I'm afraid it is. Look um, I went out on the latest expedition group, to act as security. And well...I saw him."

I hear Mrs Hudson gasp, she knows who I mean. They all do.

"And?" Sally waves for me to continue.

"And... he's.. one of them. He's a zombie."

* * *

**MRS HUDSON**

"And... he's.. one of them. He's a zombie."

I can see how painfully that was for Greg to say. Oh my poor boy! This is all my fault. If I had only run a little faster he wouldn't have had to fend off the creatures chasing us. I will never forget his voice screaming for me to run, while he stood there with his harpoon. He saved me and now I have doomed him to a half life. My head sinks into my hands and I weep.

Molly wraps her arms around me and holds me close. Greg coughs and stands up. He says he will return tomorrow and tell us everything. I hear Molly say goodbye. I wipe my eyes and thank him for coming. Its horrible news, its the worst news. But its closure. I was afraid, not knowing what happened to him but now I know. But images of him fighting of zombies and being attacked or returning to his flat alone and cold and waiting for the inevitable brings fresh new tears.

"There, there Martha. It's ok. Maybe there will be a cure."

"Are you out of your mind? As if there will be a cure. Besides, he probably likes being a zombie. He was so damn fascinated with them when they first arrived."

Sally and Molly begin fighting. I know she doesn't truly hate Sherlock. I can see the regret on her face as soon as she uttered those words. I can't deal with this right now, so I leave them to continue their fight and head for my room. I close my door so I can't hear their raised voices and sit on my bed. There is a photograph on the table beside it and I pick it up an stroke the frame.

It's of myself, Sherlock, Molly and Lestrade. Three months before the war started. Dear boy, I hope we can help you somehow.


	13. Chapter 13

**JOHN**

It comes to my attention that I probably stink. I've been in these clothes almost two, three days. I've slept in them, I've run around London in them. I'm sure it doesn't both Lock, but it sure as hell bothers me. But I have nothing else to wear. Unless Lock has some old clothes here. They'd be huge on him, Lock has to be at least 6 feet tall. But anything is better than this at the moment. And I should have a shower tonight, spiders or no spiders. I stir my tea and test the taste. Perfect as always. Lock is still in the living room by the fire, he's completely dry now but he still has bed hair.

"Lock?" He turns straight away.

"Yess?"

"Um, you don't happen to have any spare clothes do you?"

If I told him why I don't think he'd understand. Zombies are like dogs, they like the nasty smells. I sip my tea as his head tilts to one side, he does that sometimes when he's trying to think. And then he nods.

"St-tay...here."

Not like I can go anywhere else mate.

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

Clothes.. clothes I have seen clothes somewhere he before. But why does he need to change? I have been wearing the same clothes for years. But then the dead have no need to change clothes. Plus it is a little difficult. I have trouble whenever a button becomes undone on my coat. If he is cold, he will want warm clothes. But how will I know what is warm? Perhaps if I observe the clothing and analyse it.

I make my way to my bedroom, I have seen clothes in there before. The wardrobes hold all sorts of strange clothes, two silk robes and one red velvet one. I take that one off it's hanger and throw it on the bed. It's very soft like my blankets in the bath. It has to be of a similar thickness to John's blanket. Opening some of the draws I find pants, plain shirts, jumpers and a variety of other clothes. I'll take one of everything and John can decide. I throw them all on the robe and carry them in a bundle. I deposit it all in John's lap, who jumps as if I had startled him.

"Wow, that's a lot! Thanks mate." I nod, pleased.

He sifts through the clothes, sorting them into two piles. A lot of the clothes are clearly too big for him. I sit by the fire and watch. I don't feel warm or hot, but I still find the fire interesting. If I could just touch it...no, John will get mad at me. I can't have that happen. Though I suspect he will be made if he ever finds out I ate his friend. Hopefully that won't happen. But what will I do when he wants to leave? I want him to stay here...

"Lock?" He must have been trying to get my attention, he looks worried.

"Yes?" He hands me one of the piles of clothes and thanks me for the ones he's borrowing.

"K-keep." I don't need them anymore.

"Really? I mean most don't fit me but when I get back home the rest are sure to fit someone."

I nod. Of course he can keep them. My clothes are still in good condition. For the most part. My shirt has a few holes in it, the collar is dirty and theres a few loose threads but its still whole. The ends of my pants are in tatters and theres a few holes in my coat but they are quite small. My scarf has nearly had it though. Which worries me because I'm not sure how to tie it if I find another.

"Thanks mate."

I take the unwanted clothes and head back to my room.

* * *

**JOHN**

The clothes are actually really nice. And expensive, bloke must have had a lot of money when he was alive. The pants are too long but they can be folded up or hemmed. I can use safety pins until then or cut them off with scissors. All the shirts are white and look like they would be way to tight on me. But I could use one of these pyjama tops instead. There's also a beautiful, and I suspect handmade, red jumper with blue and white diamonds around the collar. Someone must have loved him to have spent all that time on such a lovely jumper. There are also two pairs of pyjamas, one in grey and blue, the other in green and black. Ill use the grey top as everyday clothing and the black shirt and green pyjamas pants tonight. The dressing gown is brilliant.

Oh I can't wait for my shower tonight.

* * *

The afternoon goes quickly. I spend the time with Lock, looking through some of the closed boxes that were dotted around the flat. Most were labeled CASES, in messy handwriting. I was write to suspect he was a detective, but some of these had police reports, what sort of private detective is consulted by the police? Lock finds no intrest in the boxes because he has trouble reading them. But occasionally he will point at a picture and comment on it.

"G-guilt-ty."

"Who the man?" I'd been reading the case out to him, he had insisted. I don't think he likes to feel left out

"Yes. Guilty."

"How could you possibly know that?" It was there written in red, with an exclamation mark and smiley face.

"Hand." He points to the hand but I don't see anything.

"I'm sorry I don't understand, Lock."

"Hand." He says with greater vigour.

"It's just a hand, Lock." He throws the picture at me, which proved pointless as it floated down to the ground between us. He didn't look angry but perhaps he was frustrated that I wasn't understanding him.

"D-doctor." He points at me. Well being in a hospital when he'd found me might have made it obvious, but would a zombie be able to make that connection.

"Yes, I'm a doctor, Lock." He shakes his head. He wants to say something else, not just that I'm a doctor. But the words won't come.

"G-gun. Fffight." He mimes shooting and keeps pointing to my gun, which is resting on the kitchen table.

I'm sorry mate, I'm not sure what you're getting at. I swear I almost see him glare before he dives into a pile of junk and pulls out a toy solider.

"You."

Does, he mean he knows I was in the army before this? Is that what you're getting at, Lock?

"You. D-doctor." He points at the solider before he says doctor. Solider, Doctor. Army Doctor!

"You mean, Army Doctor. Is that what you're trying to say? That you know I'm an Army Doctor, the same way you know that man was guilty because of his hand?"

And then he grins.


	14. Chapter 14

**JOHN**

It doesn't last and Lock seems almost exhausted afterwards. But it was a smile nonetheless. It was proof of something. That Lock was different, special. Because it's a well known fact that zombies don't have emotions nor can they express them. And yet Lock clearly is learning to. He may not have always been able to do it and this may be the only smile he ever expresses, but it's proof. I just don't know of what. Lock continues to poke his cheeks in an attempt to smile again. He was just as surprised as I was when it happened and I believe he is trying to force it to happen again. But it mustn't work like that.

I busy myself making dinner while Lock continues to practice. He eventually gives up and looks at the clothes I have chosen for later. But he's easily bored and dives into another cardboard box and makes a mess by tipping out it's contents. It was full of glasses, prop noses, hats and other accessories. It's clear he doesn't know what half of the items are, so I amuse my self by putting some of the glasses and hats on him. My favourite is the Pilots cap and aviator glasses. The glasses snap in half when he tries to take them off and he holds them in his hands forlornly.

"It's ok it was just an accident." I take them out of his hands and put them back in the box.

He picks another hat. This time its a fez.

* * *

Dinner was lovely once again but I was looking extremely forward to a shower and fresh clothes. I left Lock to discover the purpose of a pink, lace bra and took my new clothes with me to the bathroom. I left them outside so I could be sure they would be spider free. Turns out water is a brilliant deterrent against spiders. I left my old clothes on the tiled floor, making sure I hung up the dressing gown on the door's hook. Then came the moment I'd been waiting for all day. Turning those taps and letting that wonderful warm water pour down upon me. And it was bliss, let me tell you.

I could stay here forever.

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

I've been waiting outside the bathroom for ages. He's been in there for a long time. Is he alright? Did the spiders get him? Why are his clothes outside? Doesn't he want them? Should I make sure he's alright? I test the door knob, it's unlocked. I shuffle inside quietly. The room is misty. I can see water pouring down from the shower head, into the stall. And I can vaguely see a form moving about behind the opaque glass.

And I could hear sounds coming from inside...and words.

 _"I've been working so hard, I'm punching my card. Eight hours for what? Oh, tell me what I got. I've got this feeling, that time's just holding me down. I'll hit the ceiling or else I'll tear up this town._ "

I can hear his feet splashing as they hit the shower floor. What is he doing in there? And what do those words mean? He'll tear up what town?

_"Now I gotta cut loose, footloose, kick off the Sunday shoes. Please, Louise, pull me off of my knees. Jack, get back, come on before we crack. Lose your blues, everybody cut footloose"_

Perhaps...perhaps I should just wait in here until he's finished his shower. This...thing he's doing requires further study. So I wait patiently outside his shower stall, fascinated by his shower performance. I wonder if all humans do this. Is it perhaps a kind of ritual? Something traditional perhaps, that they are required to perform during every shower.

It certainly is interesting and John seems to be enjoying himself. I hope he continues his ritual.

* * *

**JOHN**

I feel so refreshed. Once I'd run out of lyrics to sing I placed the old shampoo bottle back on it's little shelf. I feel renewed, I feel better than I have for ages. Definitely doing this again before I leave. Though to be honest I don't want to leave. But what I want isn't important. But maybe one day all this will be possible again. One can only hope.

I reach for my towel above me and wipe my eyes. The door to the shower stall was a little stuck at first but a bit of elbow grease was all it needed to open. I grinned to myself and lowered the towel from my eyes. And saw someone standing just outside the stall. Oh Shit. I quickly wrapped the towel around my waist.

"LOCK!?" I glare at him, dumbfounded.

"Yes?"

"You.. you can't just go into the bathroom when someone else is in there!"

"Why?"

I am this close to face-palming. If he wasn't dead I'd punch him straight in the nose. He genuinely doesn't believe he's doing something wrong. God, how to I explain this?

"Because it's...rude. It's rude Lock. You have to wait outside."

I feel my cheeks beginning to flush red due to this highly embaressing situation. Grabbing Lock's arm I pull him towards the door and push him out of the bathroom. I grab my clothes before he tries to get back in and slam the door in his face. Next time, I'll make sure the damn door is locked before I have a shower. Oh fuck! He heard me singing too! Though, I suppose it wouldn't have meant anything to him. It's not like he can tease me. He's bloody lucky right now that he's a zombie. Very lucky.

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

But John, I just wanted to make sure you were ok! You had been there in ages, it was a logical assumption that something might have happened. No, let me go. What are you doing? No, don't close the door on me. John?! Let me in...I'm sorry. The force of the door propelled me to the ground, so I decided to stay on the floor till John came out. I didn't mean to make him mad. I don't understand what all his fuss was about. Or why his face went so red. Though that was very fascinating. Why did it happen? Was it me? Was it because I saw him with no clothes on? Was this not a good thing? Can I make him do it again?

Did I interrupt his ritual? I just don't see what I've done wrong...Its just a body...right? All the same bits are there. I think..They should be. Although he has a large scar on his shoulder. I have enough bullet wounds to recognise one on another body. The scar is very large. He must have been close to death after it occurred. But he survived and this does not surprise me. John is a survivor.

The door opens and John comes out in the loose green pants with the spots and a long black top. I remember these, they were ones I chose for him. They look very large on his smaller body. He wraps the red gown around his body and ties it, then grabs me by the shoulder and steers me into the living room. I have the curious notion that I might be in trouble. Well I have been in trouble before I am sure. I can handle this, no problem.

* * *

I've been grounded. I don't know what this is but it's a bit not good. How long do I have to stand in this corner?


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am concerned this might become rather long...we haven't even adventured yet.

**JOHN**

W-What? Where am I? Oh shit, I must have fallen asleep. I'd been reading a mystery book on the couch and I only closed my eyes for a second! What time is it?...I've been asleep for two hours. And Lock is still in the corner. His shoulder's are slumped, his head is resting against the wall. I only meant for him to stay there for thirty minutes...Sorry mate. I wipe my eyes as I get up, letting the book slider to the floor. I'll pick it up later.

"Lock?" I yawn. He lift's his head but doesn't turn around.

"John."

"Look, um, you can come out of the corner now. I didn't mean for you to be there for so long." My bad.

He nods and moves backwards, tripping over his bad leg, then over a casebox. His coat flips over his head, revealing a belt missing much of it's leather and a shirt with the fabric coming out of his pants, like a tail.

"You alright?" I lifted the coat off his face.

"Yes."

"Good. I'm going to bed. You can...do whatever it is you do at night. Goodnight."

Big day tomorrow.

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

Theres a lot of dust down there. Like a mountain of dust. You would be able to see it from space. When was the last time I cleaned in here? Oh right, never. How long am I supposed to stand here? It's exceedingly boring. I'll count the all the cracks in the wallpaper. That is sure to pass the time. Oh look a cockroach.

I'm so bored.

"Lock?" Oh good, can I get out of the corner now?

"John."

"Look, um, you can come out of the corner now. I didn't mean for you to be there for so long."

Oh how wonderful, nice of you to tell me that now. No, that's not fair, he didn't mean it. My incredible gracefulness leaves me sprawled out on the floor. I tripped over my own leg. That's a new high score in How Low Can I Go? Who turned out the lights?..Oh wait that's just my coat. I could just stay here like this until he leaves. He's probably laughing at me right now. Light enters my coat and I can see John's amused but concerned face.

"You alright?"

"Yes."

No I hate everything. Hate is a strong word. I looooooathe everything. I mean if I can express strong emotions I think I'd be having a sulk right about now.

"Good. I'm going to bed. You can...do whatever it is you do at night. Goodnight." Night.

I suppose could 'go to bed' as well. Let the spiders amuse me again. I know theres an actual bed in the downstairs bedroom, but I'm not about to clean everything off it. I'm a zombie not a housekeeper. I pick myself off the floor and head in the direction of the bathroom. I wish this bath was longer. Why don't they make them for tall people? Still, if I curl up I can fit my whole body in. I curl up on my side in the tub and stare at the stains running down it's side. That looks like blood. I hope its not blood. I don't remember eating anyone in here. I've never had take away before. That was probably in poor taste. That too. Is it my blood? Did I cut myself by accident? If I did...thats an awful lot.

* * *

I wish I could sleep. I wish my brain would shut up sometimes. I wish I could talk properly. I wish a lot of things. If wishes were horses, beggars would ride...said someone. Git. I wish I wish I had a fish. No I don't. Do others wish for things? Do they wish for something more than this? Do they wish for their old lives. I don't remember mine, I have a feeling I might have been lonely. Maybe because I was lonely before I found John. The world was dark and dull and then he appeared like the sun. Does that sound too poetic? I'm not a poet.

* * *

What do people do while they sleep? Does anything happen? I don't remember. Do they just fall unconscious and wake up several hours later like nothing ever happened? That sounds wonderful. I am constantly conscious. Like, I wonder how comfortable sleeping in here would be for a human. I wonder if I will even be able to get out of here.

And John..what if John wants to leave tomorrow? I can't stop him, he wants to go. But I don't want him to leave me. But I can't keep him prisoner he's a person, he has a life. Could I walk with him? I'd stay at a safe distance when we reached his home. Besides he will need all the help he can get, he's a soldier yes, but he came here with a group. He is the only one left. He will need help and I'm the only one who can volunteer. But I'll postpone his departure as long as I can.

* * *

The spiders have spun more webs across my body. They cling to my clothes and my hair. They also cling to the blankets and pillows. It's actually hard for me to raise my head. One of them lands on my cheek, he's a lot larger than the ones I usually find in my bathroom. No...don't spin a web over my face. I need my face. Wonderful now I can't open my eyes or my mouth. I could always use my hands, but one is tucked beneath me and the other is stuck to my side. Well this is just brilliant. Never let an army of spiders invade your bathroom, they will use you for hostage negotiations.

Someone send help.

* * *

**MYCROFT**

I have made a decision. I shall ignore the opinions of the government and my peers and I shall seek out my brother for myself. If I believe he can be safely contained until a cure is found or, he becomes one of the flesh skeletons, I will see it done. If not, I shall deal with him myself. People can complain that we have never contained someone else's family member before, but the fact is those people are not me. It has never been considered before and I will fight for it to happen if I can.

Tomorrow morning I will ask Lestrade who he recommends go with me. I have a feeling I already know who he will suggest.


	16. Chapter 16

**JOHN**

I woke up late in the day, it must be at least 11am. Just as well, I doubt I'll have much chance to sleep in when I get home. I swing my legs out of bed and stand. Time to try on those new clothes. The top fits fine, the jumpers a bit big but I can fold up the sleeves. The pants...the pants are a problem. But maybe I can cut off some of the length. Must be a pair of scissors in this house.

I sneak downstairs, Lock wasn't anywhere in the vicinity. Good, because below the waist, I'm only in my pants. I check every drawer and finally find a pair of scissors sharp enough. With the legs shortened I try them on again. Perfect. I turn the kettle on and wait for it to boil. Where's Lock? He's probably in the bath again. He must find it comfortable. God, I hope he isn't covered in spiders again.

I'll have this tea and then I'll have to go in there anyway, if I'm leaving today, I ought to look presentable.

* * *

Alright, time to brave the spiders. Come on John, you're a grown man and you've been living with a zombie for the past few days. Spiders are nothing.

"Lock? You in there? I'm coming in."

I slowly opened the door to find Lock curled up in the bath, once again covered in spiders and cobwebs. If he were alive I'd almost think he was sleeping. I gently push apart the cobwebs on his face and remove the ones from his eyes. Or tried to. They were stuck on fast. Alright mate, we need to get you out of this tub. I flicked away any spider I could see and slowly pulled Lock out of the bath. Poor guy was covered in the webs. As soon as I set him down on the bathmat, he began to try and tear the rest of the cobwebs off his body.

"Here, let me." Guy might poke his eye or something.

I pulled on the webs covering his eyes, accidentally pulling out one or two eyelashes. Two pale eyes looked at me like a kicked puppy.

"Alright, it's ok, Ill get the webbing off your mouth. Stay still."

I tore it off his mouth and he stuck out his tongue and removed the bits that had invaded the inside of his mouth. He looked so comical I couldn't help laughing as I pulled him off the ground. I left him to remove the last pieces of cobweb and cleaned the bathroom mirror. I hope there is a razor here someone, I'm sure I need a shave.

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

I can hear the door open, good, John will save me. Why did I think this was a good idea?

"Lock? You in there? I'm coming in." Yes! Yes I'm here, in the bathtub. The spiders want to use me for their nefarious plans. You musn't let them, John.

I tried to get up but it's rather hard when one can't use their arms. I feel strong warms wrap themselves around me and pulled my body out. As soon as I was free, I attempted to remove the rest of the cobwebs from my body. Two hands grab my own. I feel John gently tug at the ones covering my eyes. Ah, light. Hello John. Can you please get the one on my mouth? I know I don't talk much but I'd prefer it wasn't there.

"Alright, it's ok, Ill get the webbing off your mouth. Stay still."

It comes off in when go and I stick out my tongue, the spiders had not gotten inside but some of the webbing had. Much better. Oh please don't laugh at me John. It was the spiders fault. Where are you going? He'd walked over to the bathroom sink and was searching through the drawers and wiping who knows what off the bathroom mirror. Ah, he's found what ever it is he was looking for. A razor? I stand beside him and watch. He chuckles to himself as he scraped the instrument against his skin. I touch my own smooth chin. Not a single hair. I suppose that would be one perk of being a zombie, never having to shave. He takes considers brushing his teeth, but the toothbrush has clearly seen better days. He settles for brushing his hair.

I look at my face in the mirror. I have dark red bags under my eyes, and the less said about my eyes in general the better. My skin is pale, I should get out more. Spend some time in the sun, maybe get a tan. My lips are blue and chapped. My posture is terrible, maybe John would take me more seriously if I wasn't slumped over all the time. And when was the last time I did my hair? I look horrific. Why is that again? Oh right, I'm dead. John's looking at me, quick, pretend your not angsting over your appearance.

John chuckles again. I like that sound. He picks up a large brush and gently runs it through the tangled mess on my head. The brush gets caught several times. I don't mind but John does. He's stopped, I guess he is done now? I turn around and stare at myself in the mirror. Well my hair looks much better now. It's almost a style. Thank you John. If this job of yours with the humans doesn't pan out, you should consider becoming a Zombie hairdresser.

* * *

**JOHN**

I leave Lock to stare in the mirror and head back to "my" bedroom. I pick up the small pack that contained the rescued supplies and fill it with the food supplies Lock had brought me. Now thats ready, I wonder if there are any other weapons in this place. Lock would know. Or perhaps he wouldn't. Wasn't there a harpoon in his bedroom? That would definitely come in handy. But the man must have had other weapons in this place. Didn't he defend himself before he was turned?

"Lock?"

"John?" Oh Jesus man, don't sneak up on me like that.

"Lock, do you have weapons here? You know, maybe a gun or a knife or something? Anything I could use to defend myself." I put my shoes on as he thinks. It's like watching a computer buffer or load.

"Yes." Brilliant!

"Show me."

He turns and leaves me room. Slow down! He takes out the harpoon from his room, it's taller than both of us and then walks towards the living room. Reaching underneath the couch he takes out a foreign looking sword. He also points to the cluedo board, the black dagger piercing the wall is the perfect size. Three new weapons. He hasn't another gun?

"No guns?" He shakes his head.

"Oh well, these will do fine. Um, look Lock, sit down with me for a minute." We both sit down on the couch.

"Ok, I have to leave very soon, do you understand? I have to take these supplies to people who badly need them. I'm grateful for your help, it's been fantastic. Now, you can come with me up until the compound is visible. Then I want you to return here. I'll talk to my superiors about you and hopefully they will listen. But I'm not making any promises here. You're different but to most people the only good zombie is a dead zombie. Do you understand me?"

He takes awhile to reply, his shoulders beging to slump even more. But he nods. Good. I couldn't leave without him anyway, his help will be invaluable. I was worried he might refuse. I don't think he wants me to leave. And to be honest I don't want to, but I have no choice. I pat his shoulder and left on a search for spare belts I could use to strap the sword to my side.

This was going to be dangerous but I'm looking forward to it. God I need an adventure.


	17. Chapter 17

**SHERLOCK**

At least I can go with him part of the way. And perhaps he might come back. One can only hope. I watch him bring his bag and gun into the living room. He opens the jar of jam and dips his finger inside. He sighs in pleasure and then closes the lid and puts it back into the bag. He uses an old belt to strap the sword and dagger, safely to his side. He's going now? But it's too soon. He can't go now. Why is he looking at me? It's rude to stare....something of which I am very guilty of.

He asks me if there is another bag he could use to put a few things he'd like to borrow off me. There is one in my bedroom. I retrieve it for him and watch him put a few items from each room inside it, including the book he was reading. He inquires if I want to bring anything with me so I place a few items inside the bag. He straps his to his back, and this one to mine. Oh that might have just cured my posture. Or made it worse.

"Ready?"

He hands me the harpoon as he fiddles with his gun. I want to shake my head. No I'm not ready. This is very not good. Can't you stay a little while longer? But my traitorous head nods anyway. Good he says, and smiles.

"Let's go."

Let's not and say we did.

* * *

**LESTRADE**

Bloody Mycroft Holmes. Did he think when he asked for my opinion, that I would refuse to let him go gallivanting after his dead brother alone? That I would stay at home in the compound and wait? Of course he didn't he knew I would insist on going with him. I did recommend a few good men to go with us of course. I made the mistake of telling everyone where I was going. Because who do you suppose we found waiting for us at the gate? Molly, Sally and Anderson.

"No, you three go right back where you came from!" Molly smiled mischievously.

"Listen Greg. I don't know about these two here, but I'm going whether you like it or not. Sherlock may be dead, but if theres a chance a cure can be found by capturing him, then I'm coming with you."

"And we're going because we refuse to let you get eaten by a zombie, on his account. Plus, he may be a zombie, but he's our zombie. And like Molly said, if capturing him helps find a cure, then we're all for it." Anderson rolled his eyes but nodded along with Sally.

They don't want Sherlock to be the reason any of us get eaten. But that just leaves Mrs Hudson alone in the compound. Shit, I can't lose these guys too. But I only have to look at their faces to know how impossible it would be to make them go back. I shrug a response to Mycroft, who ,by the way is wearing a goddamn three piece suit into a war zone, nods his agreement. They could come but neither of us will be happy about it.

"Fine, but don't say no one has warned you. Where we are going is highly dangerous. We don't even know if we will find him. All we have to go on is a few days old piece of CT footage. This might all be pointless. And we aren't just out here for him but for Doctor John Watson. He's was a soldier and is quite likely to be still alive. Is that clear?" Good everyone nods. You better nod too, Mycroft. Don't give me that smug smile.

"Alright, let's go."

* * *

**JOHN**

We are barely out the door before Lock grabs my arms and pulls me back inside. He keeps sniffing me and mumbling no over and over again. What is wrong with the way I smell mate? He shuffles into the kitchen and begins to pull things out of cupboards. Horrid jars of stuff that has long since gone off. Lock mixes several of them together into one empty jar and then sniffs it. I can smell it from here and it's disgusting. He brings the jar over to me and it's all I can do not to gag.

"Lock, that's disgusting!"

He purses his lips and dips his finger into the mixture and smears it across my face. God, the smell! I just washed, Lock! I think I'm going to throw up. He sniffs me again and nods, tightening the lid of the jar and putting it into his pack. What the actual fuck?!

"S-smell." You got that bloody right.

"No shit!"

"No. No. S-smell...live." I smelt alive before?

"This is supposed to be zombie repellent?" Shrugging is not an answer, Lock.

"S-smell..dead." Well I can definitely believe that.

"Fine, whatever, let's go."

It was nice to be outside after being stuck in the flat for three days. The street was mostly abandoned which was good news for me. Now, which way did we come? Lock starts moving in one direction so I decided to follow him. Unless he was completely lost and just wandering aimlessly like his kind does. I wonder where he got the food from? Is there anymore? And anything other than food that might be useful too? I should ask.

"Lock? Where did you get the food?" He points in the other direction.

"Would there be more?"

"Yess." Brilliant!

"Anything other than food?"

Again he nods. Great. I'll see if there's anything useful and then we really have to start moving.

* * *

It doesn't take long to arrive at the Tescos. I eye the other zombies, my gun ready. But the repellent seems to be working because they were completely ignoring me. Alright, what could I get here that might be useful to those at the compound? Well clothes perhaps, blankets, definitely check the healthcare section. Maybe a little of everything but not too much, we don't want to be weighed down. However who knows if we will be able to get here again. There are things here that might be really helpful to some people. We are rapidly running out of supplies. I take Lock aside and tell him which section of the store to cover.

It takes about an hour for us to both cover the store. Lock managed to get himself lost three times. Three...it's not a massive store. We managed to find large backpacks and put everything including the smaller backs inside. Mine was too heavy, so Lock put a few of my items inside his bag. I protested this, because I was concerned it would slow him down, but zombies are quite strong and since he feels no pain it didn't bother him.

"Alright, we better go. I want to get to the compound before nightfall."

"Yes."

"Is that what you say when you don't know how to answer? That and shrugging?"

"...yes?"

"You are ridiculous."

"...no."

That last reply was whispered. It made me chuckle nonetheless. This was going to be an interesting journey.

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

This is going to be the worst journey ever.

But then never having been on a journey before, perhaps they get better. Right now it's incredibly boring. John isn't talking to me, he's talking at me. Rambling on about something I don't understand. What am I supposed to do? Nodding makes him continue, not nodding also makes him continue. It never ends! Either talk to me or not at all. Actually not at all, you'll attract attention.

See? What did I tell you?

"Shit." John lifts his gun but I quickly push down his hand.

"Pre...tend."

I mimed a stereotypical zombie walk, which by the way, is not how we walk. It's incredibly zombiest to assume such a thing. I am pretty sure that is not really a word but it is now. I invented it. He catches on quickly but is a terrible zombie. It's actually embarrassing to watch.

"Too...much."

Oh good, I embarrassed him. There, that walk is much better, see they are passing us by now. I hope the rest of this journey isn't easy, I do not want us to make record time, I do not want this to pass quickly. I want it to go very, slowly. But not so slowly as for it to be boring. I want a lot out of this journey thing.

"You alright mate?" No, don't look, he will see into my head and know everything.

"Yes...yes."

"You said yes twice. Whats going on? Honestly mate, tell me. The others are gone now. Talk to me. Please." Why does he have to be so nice? How does he know something is wrong? Now I can't refuse to tell him. Wonderful.

"Don't.. go...stay."

"Oh Lock. We talked about this, it isn't safe and people need me."

"..I need." I think I rendered him either speechless, horrified or confused. We keep walking while John decides how to continue the conversation.

"I'll come back, Lock. I promise you. Look at me. I promise you I will return. Alright?"

"Bet..ter." Alright, I'm holding you to this John.

"I will. Now come on, let's keep moving. That bags not too heavy for you?"

"Str-rong." That makes him laugh again. I love that sound. The dead don't laugh. I wish we did but that would no doubt prove to be very creepy.

"I'm sure you are. A regular superman."

Who?


	18. Chapter 18

**JOHN**

"Lock, I need to rest for a bit." I panted, leaning over, resting my hands on my knees. We'd been walking for hours.

I slipped the bag off my back and sat myself down on an old, decaying, park bench. Oh that felt good. I arched my back, hearing it crick and crack until it felt marginally better. Sorry back, you got used to that comfortable chair and bed, and now look what I'm doing to you. I raised my head up at Lock..who was still walking. Hadn't he heard me?

"Lock!" He turned around, confused to see me sitting down.

"W-what?"

"Tired Lock. I need a break. Give me ten minutes, alright?"

"Why?"

"Because normal living people need to rest break now and then. They can't just keep going like you zombies." He seemed to accept that explanation.

"Oh." Lock had his thinking face on for a few minutes before he sat down next to me. Idiot left his bag on.

Ok. Now what? A bit hard to make small talk with a zombie. Should we just sit here in an awkward silence for ten minutes? Or should I attempt to make conversation with a being that is conversationally challenged? Beats being bored I suppose.

"Lock?"

"Yes?"

"Do you remember...anything from before you died?" He shook his head, the curls bouncing around limply. It's strange, zombies hair often look like it has died along with it's owner. Apocalypses are strange. Stop getting distracted John.

"Nothing?"

"No...gone." He mimed taking something out of his head and it disappearing.

"What is your first memory of being..like this? If you don't mind me asking?"

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

I was not sure how to answer this because I feared the explanation would need to be lengthy and I am still not able to converse in more than one or two words. I would have to simplify this greatly.

"Tub." I woke up beside the bathtub, I think, my memory is gets foggier the further back I try and remember. I may have been half slumped over it. I remember having trouble getting up, as if I were a newborn animal learning to walk and stand. I was as weak as a kitten. I remember confusion. Of standing and seeing my blood covered face in the mirror. It was the first time I'd ever seen my face. I know my thought processes back then were very basic. Merely confusion, the feeling of extreme hunger and nothingness. I was a complete blank slate. I knew nothing and I felt next to nothing.

"Tub? The bathtub? That's what you remember?"

"Yes." Please keep up John.

"Then what?"

"I...uh..out..s-side." I moved two fingers to resemble walking. I went outside, still struggling to make these new legs do work. I remember screaming and the face of a bonie next to mine. But I don't know who was screaming. Me or it. I remember wandering around for days on end. Perhaps even weeks before another zombie approached me. It was A. I know that is his name now but I didn't learn that until several months after I had turned.

"You went outside and just...what?"

"Walk..." Good, getting better John.

"When did you give yourself a name?"

"Thr-ree...years.." Three years ago I was attempting to remember who I was. Trying to remember anything before being turned. All I could remember was someone shouting "-lock!". Nothing more. I know the voice was worried and that it was a man's voice.

"Yes?" John stop prompting me, this is not an easy task.

"I try..." I pointed to my head. Memory was too difficult a word.

"Think...who...uh.." I pointed to myself. This is exhausting.

"You can do it Lock." John smiled. Perhaps one day.

"Man...yell...-Lock!" Look three words! Huzzah. Oh frabjous day.

"You can remember a man shouting a word and the only part of it you remember is the word, Lock? Am I correct?" Yes John, very good. I nodded, already exhausted from such a long conversation.

"You didn't try before then to remember?" Must I keep talking?

"Mind...grow." I mimed growing. Or tried to. How does one mime growing? John seemed to understand.

"You were evolving, as a sentient being? It wasn't until three years ago that you had to ability to..remember that far back?" Yes, good! Can I stop talking now? I want to do that smiling thing again, if it will make you shut up. Please John, I want to talk to you but not now! Now I am the one who feels tired and that's impossible.

* * *

**JOHN**

I should probably stop asking him questions for now, his head is sagging and if he were human I think he'd feel exhausted by now. I will ask him again at a later time, when his conversational skills are better developed. He is getting better. But I think he has had enough questions. Even if I have a lot more I wish to ask him, I don't think he is ready to answer them. We better go, come on John, up you get.

Lock follows suit and we both make our way down the empty roads ahead of us. Lock's nose has been on high alert the entire trip so far. Anytime he thinks I no longer smell like a corpse, he smears that disgusting potion of his on my face. I'm glad his nose still works, I don't think mine does anymore. At least the stuff has been working, I can't complain about that.

Lock stops in the middle of the road, his nose in the air like a dog. He pushes me behind him and now I know something's up.

"Lock?"

"Sssh!" I look in front of him and spot several zombies staggering towards us.

Maybe the repellent needs replenishing and I can't believe I'm saying that. One of them stumbles towards Lock and snarls at him, it sniffs me and then Lock. Lock doesn't look as if this has happened before. Zombies mustn't fight with other zombies. This particular one pointed at me and shouted something unintelligible. Lock shook his head. He didn't understand that one either.

"Nnn...E-EAT! EAT!" This zombie keeps pointing at me. As if it can't believe Lock hasn't eaten me yet. Why does it care?

"No...A." A...is that it's name? Like Lock has a name, does this one have one too? God, what is happening to these creatures?

"EAT! EAT! EAT!" I think A disapproves of Lock's no John eating policy. Pity, I am in full support of it.

A looks at Lock in confusion and almost concern. He whispers eat again, as if to say, what's wrong with you mate? You are supposed to eat this guy. Lock remains steadfast in his protection of me. He keeps the harpoon in front of him as A moves over to sniff him. I can take care of myself you know, Lock. And then I hear screaming. A bonie. The sound is not unlike that of a human except it's more guttural more animalistic. You never forget it. It spreads fear amongst the zombies who scatter in every direction. A watches us for a moment before running as well. Lock turns to me and whispers one thing.

"Run."


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may become Johnlock..just warning you.

**JOHN**

"Run!"

He didn't have tell me twice. I followed him down the street and around the corner into an alley. I could hear the bonies screeching and their footsteps lightly hitting the pavement as they chased after us. There were five of them. And let me tell you one is more than enough. We ran through open buildings, across courtyards and over fences. Though Lock had a little bit of trouble with that one. He's not a graceful creature. And yet we still couldn't lose them. They were getting closer and I was begin to tire.

"John!"

Right, left John, left. Lock grabbed me by the collar and pushed me in front of him. He getting muttering run. Run John run. I shouldn't be the one in front. I have the gun and I also have no idea where we are. The screams get louder and Lock's hand is on my back, pushing me forward. And then we both stop. In front of us are four more bonies.

We were surrounded.

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

Oh no, they're everywhere. Behind us, in front of us. There is no escape. For some reason, this all feels familiar to me, but I can't recall ever being in this situation before. The bonies leave us alone. They are only interested in those with a heartbeat and our hearts are frozen, dead. John is as unsure as I am. His gun moves from each bonie, occasionally shooting, I want to tell him to stop, what if he runs out of bullets? I swing the harpoon around and stab one of them through the eye socket. It twitches and then goes still, I rip the spear out of it's body and slash it across another. But I fear my efforts are in vain. They are closing in on us.

I'm sorry John. This is my fault.

And then out of nowhere there is the sound of a motor, not a car, though I have only heard those once or twice, this was of a smaller vehicle. Some sort of cart perhaps. It zips across the pavement and smashes into the bonies in front of us. It's A. He motions for us to get in and I do so readily, but John is still unsure. Understandable, this man did try and tell me to eat him, only moments earlier.

"John..." You must get in the cart thing, John. Quickly!

"Lock, are you fucking kidding me?! I'm not getting in that thing!"

"John!" I try and reach him but he takes a step back. Now is not the time John, please, get in.

"S-safe." A spoke. A just spoke. I mean he does do that on occasion but this time it's different. His eyes look..more alive, more aware.

"Lock?"

"Trust...me" I reach for his hand again and this time, to my delight, he grabs it. I waste no time in pulling him in.

A's little cart races down the road, the remaining skeletons follow, their speed is greater than a zombie's. This cart has limited speed and power. We will not be able to evade them for long. We would need a more powerful vehicle. And I know just where to find one.

* * *

**JOHN**

Another one. Another one of them is speaking. It's saving our lives, well my life and Lock's...death? I can't believing we are trying to escape these creatures in a fucking gold cart. Where did he even find the thing? Lock is sitting next to his fellow zombie, they groan at each other and occasionally Lock will tell him to turn left or right. The bonies are still with us. We can't keep this up for very long. I can ear the engine of the golf cart sputtering. We take a sharp turn into a parking lot and I nearly tip over the side, but Lock's hand grabs my own and holds tight. It's like holding a block of ice.

"Thanks mate." He nods and tells our chauffeur to stop.

There are still seven cars in this parking lot. Now I see why Lock brought us here. We could drive away in one of these. But we can't head back towards the compound, the bonies are in the way. And I can't let them follow us. I'll have to leave the city. It was not my intention but tomorrow we can head back and try another route. Maybe they will have forgotten us by then.

"C-choose." Me? I get to pick? Well I suppose I'll have to be the one driving. Haven't done that in a very long time.

There is a Ferrari in the parking lot. A fucking Ferrari. I'd be stupid not to take a chance at driving it. I stroke the red hood of the car and open the door. The keys are still in ignition. This was meant to be. I slide into the driver's seat and allowed myself a moment. A few seconds of a moment. Lock had trouble opening the passenger side door, so I opened it for him. I don't suppose there was any point in telling him to keep his seatbelt on. But I did anyway.

"You aren't coming with us?" A was still in the cart. Perhaps he was planning a distraction. I can believe a zombie could do almost anything now.

"Go! Bye..L-lock."

"No…" I could see the bonies ahead of us. It was now or not at all. Waving to A and wishing him luck, turned the key and put my foot on the accelerator.

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

I don't like driving, I don't like driving, I don't like driving. I'm going to die. Again. Stop the car. John!

I wish I could throw up.

* * *

**JOHN**

I don't care where we go, I just drive onwards. Until the skyscrapers turn into small buildings, then houses. I have to stop soon. It's getting late and I don't fancy driving in the dark. I drive down the streets of an unfamiliar suburb. Here is better than nowhere. I park the car outside an abandoned house. I open the door, my gun ready in my hand but this place is deserted. No zombies out here. Lock is still in the car. I walk around to his side and open the door. He looks terrified.

"I'd tell you to take a deep breath but I don't believe it would do any good."

"B-breath..ings bor-ing."

"Of course it is. Need any help?" He struggles with the seatbelt until I take pity on him and help. He propels himself out of the car with lightening speed and collapses on the ground. I think this zombie now has a phobia of cars. I help him up and together we walk to the front door of the house.

"Come on mate, you go inside and I'll get our bags."

Looks like I'm spending another night with the zombie from Baker Street.


	20. Chapter 20

**SHERLOCK**

I could have kissed the ground when John opened door and let me tumble out, my body sprawled across the grass. Sweet, stationary ground. I am sure that John is quite capable of driving a car under normal circumstances, however, I no longer have confidence in his driving skills. I lay face first on the grass until John lifted me to my feet and directed me to the front door of the abandoned house. The door was open, I let myself inside and began to wander from room to room whilst John brought in our bags and the harpoon. My hands searched for a light switch, finding one at the end of the main hallway. It still worked, not everywhere has electricity.

Most of the rooms were boring, however the dining room held several sources of interest. A camera, a wooden case and very angry looking cat. It's fur was matted but for the most part it seemed to be perfectly healthy. And no doubt quite delicious. Though flesh tends to taste the same after awhile, human flesh however does taste better. Which is why we prefer to eat them whenever possible. Animals are simply away to deal with the hunger when human meat is unavailable. It had not been that long since I ate something, I have gone without eating for a few months. And yet, here was food already laid out on the table for me. One shouldn't waste food when it's offered, should they?

I slowly stepped towards the cat, it's tail twitching in anger, it's haunches up and it's fur bristled. All it takes is one bite. I prepared to pounce on the animal, who apparently had the exact same idea because a few seconds later I had a cat on my chest and screeching out a war cry. I tried in vain to pull it off but it was to strong a fighter. John must have heard the cat's cry because he was in front of me in mere seconds, pulling the feline off my coat. I watched a button falling to the floor in slow motion before glaring at the creature.

"No, Lock. It's not food. It's someone's pet."

"But.."

"No but's, do you need to eat? Right now is it necessary?"

"No, but.."

"Then you don't need to eat it, don't be greedy Lock. If you can restrain yourself from eating me, then you can stop yourself from eating the cat." But it's not the same! I don't eat out of greed, I hate eating humans, so why can't I eat the cat? Of course I'd never attack you John, the mere thought revolts me.

I wanted to sulk and stamp my foot in frustration, I had been bested in battle and I wanted a rematch, the cat being the horrible animal it was, curled around John's shoulders, mocking me. I picked up the remaining objects from the table and stormed off into the living room. I could hear John cooing to the fiend, who had the audacity to purr. I will have my revenge, no one usurps me.

I know I am probably being petty, but emotions are new to me, so I am dealing the best way I can. Though it is no doubt still rather childish. But I don't know any better. I assume. Maybe I won't eat the cat, it would make John happy and truthfully I am not hungry. I know I won't be for awhile. But the more you eat, the longer you can hold of the zombie's curse, becoming a bonie. Zombies aren't supposed to be afraid of anything, we don't have emotions, we don't think, we don't feel. But everyone of us, has at least one fear. That we will one day become one of them and it's a realistic fear because we all will. It's just a matter of when.

If it ever happens to me...no, I don't want to think about it.

* * *

**JOHN**

I know he won't really eat the cat, I think it was more than it attacked him and he felt provoked. Poor thing probably hasn't seen humans, well  _a_ human in ages. I poured it a saucer of water and wished I had something to feed it, but it seemed well fed already, so I left it in the kitchen and explored the house , looking for a bedroom. The master bedroom would do perfectly, unless I wanted to sleep in a pink sheeted bed surrounded by posters of boy bands. And I really, really, really do not want to. I dropped my bag on the large bed and took out a few items. Mainly some tea and jam, my new pyjamas and dressing gown and the book I'd been reading.

I changed and walked around the room. The owners had taken anything of sentimental value from this room, books were left in a small bookcase, shoes and unwanted clothes on the floor in front of the wardrobe. This room even had an ensuite bathroom. I wonder...Where is Lock? I'd started a fire before I'd found him wrestling with the cat, so he better not be trying to discover fire in a personal sense. I am sure I'd put the grille back in place?

"Lock?"

"Yes?" Living room then.

I found him on the carpet in front of a couch, the contents of his bag, spilling across the floor and the pencils, which must have been in wooden case, were scattered in every corner of the room. Are those the things he decided to bring? The deerstalker, Bluebell, a rubix cube, some of the case files, a black rectangle (Not quite sure what that one was), the photo of him and his brother, a pair of black leather gloves and a children's book on bees. In his hands he held a polaroid camera. Oh that bring's back memories. I haven't seen one of those in years.

"Lock, we aren't staying here for long, there was no need to unpack." He grunted in reply, still in a bad mood then. I lifted the camera out of his hands.

"Quick, smile Lock!" The bulb flashed and Lock jumped back in alarm.

The photo showed a bewildered zombie staring in horror at the camera. Ok, perhaps a better one. "Come on Lock, it won't hurt you, try to smile. Say zombie apocalypse!"

This photo was a lot better, he managed an almost smirk, though his eyes, the most emotive part of him, were still wide and stricken with fear. I placed it back in his hands and showed him how to use it. He seemed to prefer to be the one behind the camera rather than the one in front of it. He took two decent pictures of me. This gives me an idea.

* * *

An hour later the floor was covered in polaroid pictures. A few "selfies" with myself and Lock, a photo with Lock wearing the deerstalker, one with him holding the black rectangle, which turned out to be a magnifying glass. He seemed to enjoy opening and closing it. He took a few more of me before I decided to take a few sneaky pictures of him when he was looking. I felt it captured the side of him only I'd ever seen. The lonely monster who only wanted a friend. These photos will be important. Because it is important to preserve the past and the present, the help the future. Though whilst some of these may help my case in defending Lock, others I wanted to keep for myself. Like the one with Bluebell on his lap whilst he attempted to draw a bee with his new pencils. Well that is what I think it's supposed to be.

I found myself yawning. Time to sleep I think. Lock watched me silently from his little corner of the room.

"I'm tired mate, I'm going to go to bed. Come on, you can bring those things with you." I gestured to the objects that surrounded him, then turned and headed up the stairs.

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

He wants me to come? Why? I find him in the largest bedroom, our weapons spread across the floor, the windows covered by most of a bookcase now laying on it's side. I see, he wants me close for safety reasons. And probably to keep me out of trouble. That's justified I suppose. He pulls back the covers and points towards the bathroom. Curious, I followed his finger and opened the door. A large, white bath was situated on the right side of the little room. And inside it was filled with blankets, pillows and cushions. He'd realised I felt most comfortable here and made me my own bed.

Thank you John. Perhaps I should say that allowed. That's good, isn't it? Human's like manners.

"Thank..you." John grinned, yes I did the right thing.

"Night, Lock. See you in the morning. Sweet...um...good night."

Sweet what? I don't understand, what phrase were you beginning to say? Oh, you are already asleep. He must have been exhausted. He has been running all day with a heavy bag on his back, being chased by bonies and zombies. I was right from the start. He is a fighter, he is a strong man, a survivor. But he is still human, he should not push himself so hard. He might burn out.

I close the bathroom door, but not all the way, just so a small crack of light from the moon could trickle into the room. I curled up on my side in the bath. No spiders in here. I had brought my photos with me. I held them in my hands and thought about them for hours. What they meant, how were they created, could I take the camera apart without destroying it? I wished once more I could turn things off and sleep like John but the dead don't sleep. We are always awake. Eternal insomniacs.

I'll stare at these for awhile and then I'll stare at nothing. Should be a fun filled evening of nothing.


	21. Chapter 21

**LESTRADE**

We'd been walking for hours and I swear we were no closer to finding Sherlock then we were, sitting on our arses back in the compound. Of course we had yet to check Baker Street. I was doubtful that we would ever find him. It's like looking for a needle in a haystack, with the haystack being a zombie infested London and the needle being a skinny, dead, consulting detective. It's not like I can lure him here with a mystery to solve. The man's a zombie, a mystery would be way out of his league, it would require thinking and zombies are rather lacking in that ability.

Goddamn it, just made myself fucking sad. Sherlock was an extremely intelligent young man, with a thirst for knowledge and enjoyed nothing more than solving a difficult puzzle. He loved his mind and now he's a mindless eating machine. With no thoughts running through his head. Probably quiet though, poor sod. I still can't get his face out of my head. It was so pale, well it was always pale to begin with but it was grey, the colour of a corpse. Which he is, just a walking one. His lips were blue and gone were those amazing eyes that saw everything and anything. He had the same eyes as every zombie. Pale with a dark ring. He was still wearing the coat, that bloody coat and scarf.

"Do you think we'll actually find him, Greg?" Molly's voice sliced through my thoughts like a sharp knife.

"What? Oh, dunno to be honest. He could be anywhere in London."

"However it is far more likely he will be somewhere in the vicinity of Baker Street." Yes, thank you Mycroft, I was just getting to that.

"Let's hope so, I'm not sure how much longer I can walk." Shut up Anderson, we're all fucking tired.

"Well, I'm sure we'll find him." I hope so too Molly.

I hope so too.

* * *

It took us two more hours before we reached the beginning of Baker Street. It was thankfully devoid of zombies, we'd managed to avoid most of them during our journey. Not an easy feat let me tell you. We reach 221b fairly quickly, most of us ran to be honest. The thought of somewhere to sit down was very appealing. The door was unlocked, which wasn't very surprising. Mrs Hudson's flat hadn't changed a bit. I must remember to bring her a few items of value, she mentioned them to me before we left.

Mycroft bounded up the stairs, two at a time. I followed closely behind, leaving the soldiers to cover the entrance. 221b was certainly a lot messier then I remembered. The floor was covered in boxes and objects of all shapes and sizes. In fact every room in the house bar one was exactly the same.

"Someone lit a fire in here recently." Mycroft's voice whispered behind me. I knelt down in front of the grille, why would a zombie need a fire?

"What do you see Mycroft?" Read us the room.

"All these things, everything in every room has no relation to each other. It's as if someone has collected or hoarded whatever he could put his hands on. The kettle and microwave were recently used, there is still water in the bottom of the kettle, look." There certainly was and not of the stagnent kind either.

"What else?"

"Come with me."

I followed him into the bathroom. The spider webs covered the ceiling, and most of the room. Except the mirror. The bath was filled with pillows and blankets, the shower floor was wet.

"What do you see, Mycroft?"

"Look at the bath, someone was been lying in there, maybe sleeping, maybe not. On the side of the bath there is a great deal of blood, and-" Together we removed everything from the tub and underneath it all was a large pool of dried blood. Shit. Oh Sherlock. "-something happened here. I think...I believe this is where he died. He was slumped over the side of the bathtub and..." Died.

Oh sunshine. He must have been attacked and returned home to nurse his wounds. He probably passed out against the tub and bled out. I hope he didn't feel anything. I can't imagine what must have run through his head, he would know his fate, know he couldn't do anything to stop it. I wish I'd gone back for him, but we couldn't, they wouldn't let us.

"Fuck." I placed my hand over my eyes and turned away. So much blood. Oh Sherlock, I'm so sorry.

* * *

**MYCROFT**

He would have suffered, that much blood however, would hopefully mean that it was a quick death. I turned away from the sight, the reason for his death was not important. Our goal is to find him now that he is dead. But I wasn't sure what to make of his flat. The only logical explanation was the least logical in every respect. A zombie, a mindless drone, had been collecting everything he could find. And someone living had stayed in his flat for the past few days.

Lestrade did inform me that he took Doctor Watson with him. Could he have brought him here? But it is completely out of character for the walking dead. They had no minds, no emotions. The only thoughts that ran through their decaying heads was of food. But it would be quite like Sherlock to not want to eat, dead or alive. The body was just transport after all.

"Do you think, he did all this? Brought all this shit here?"

"It would seem to be the case, Lestrade. I can think of no other explanation. I simply wished I knew why."

"Well he's not here, so now what?" Yes, what do we do now?

"Now, we rest. We will stay here tonight and continue tomorrow. We will visit all his old, haunts, and see if they will give us some clue of where he is." And what has become of him.

* * *

**JOHN**

_It was so cold, I could see my breath in front of me. The room was dark, I flipped a switch but nothing happened. I could hear movement outside so I grabbed my gun and opened the door. Suddenly I was on the street, the moon bright and full. I saw a herd of zombies slowly coming towards me. Lock was leading them. But it wasn't the Lock I knew. His eyes were empty, the life I'd seen behind them was extinguished. Blood dribbled down his chin as he bared his teeth. The harpoon was still in his hand. He thrust it forward and it pierced my stomach. Blood spattered us both with a splashing sound and I felt him pulling me closer with the spear._

_"No. Lock.. please" I begged him to let me go. I was dead anyway, but I didn't want it to be by his hands. Come on mate, it's me, John. Please, god don't do this._

_I tried to hold the bodily fluid, that trickled through my fingers, in but it was a useless effort. He grabbed my chin and hissed. I felt the harpoon being ripped from my body in one swift move and I screamed. I started to fall to my knees but I felt his strong arms around me. Please let me go. Let me die. Lock, why?! I looked up into a face that used to be so full of childish wonder, hidden sarcasm and an obvious mischievous streak. It held only hunger now. He dug his nails into the side of his cheek and pulled, the skin coming off like a Halloween mask. Revealing the dark muscled skin of every bonie. Half his face was human, half bonie._

_And then his teeth punctured my neck and...and..._

_and..._

* * *

I woke up. Oh God. Shit, fuck, fuck fuck. I buried my head in my hands and breathed deeply. In and out. In and out. I need to get out of here. I need air. Careful not to alert Lock, who I really did not want around me right now, I pulled on my dressing gown and shoes and left the house. It was dawn, I walked to the end of the street and sat on the grass to watch the sun rise. It felt so peaceful out here. I didn't have to worry about the walking dead, or the next patient or collecting supplies. I didn't have to worry about anything.

Just me.

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

When the sun began to pour through the crack in my door I sat up and pulled myself out of the bath. I should check on John. I get distracted, I must make sure he is alright. I pull open the door to find his bed empty. That's ok, he must be downstairs.

He was not downstairs.

He wasn't in any room of the house. He was gone. John had left me. What if a bonie came into the house and took him? No I would hear that and there would be evidence. Everything I saw told me the same thing. John had left the house. Doesn't he realise how dangerous it is to be out alone? He's the living one, I shouldn't have to be the one to tell him that. I retrieved the harpoon from the bedroom and went outside. I hope he hasn't left me. I thought we were going back into the city together, that I would see him safely home. Why did he leave me? Did I do something wrong? Can I fix it? He didn't even say goodbye. I'm sorry John, please come back. Where are you? John?

"John?" Please answer me...


	22. Chapter 22

**JOHN**

“John?”

No, no, no. I can't have him find me. I can't bear to see him right now. Perhaps if I don't move he won't notice me. But then, his nose might. Fuck, I can see him now. And if I can see him, he can see me. He's running towards me and he has that fucking harpoon with him. Don't look, John. Don't look. Deep breaths.

“John?” Don't say it like that mate.

I don't want to look up but I do. He's nothing like the dream version. His eyes are wide with concern for my wellbeing. But he still has the harpoon. Why did he have to bring it? Out of all the weapons he could have chosen, why that one?

“...J-john...?”

He barely whispers my name this time, but it's enough to make me answer. It's so uncertain, he shouldn't sound so worried. Like it's his fault I won't answer, that I left the house without telling him. God, did he think I left him for good? Poor sod.

“Yes, Lock. What do you want?” He bites his lip, he doesn't know what he wanted. But at the same time I can see a billion questions zip through his head.

“I....I....you l-left.” I was right. You thought I left you permanently. “....my fault?”

His voice was so quiet I barely caught that last question. Oh mate. I can't ignore you. You'd blame yourself a hundred different ways. I patted the grass beside me and he sat down, drawing up those long, gangly legs of his.

“It's not your fault, Lock. I had a bad dream. I needed some air.” He nods, but I don't think he actually understands. He only wants me to think he does.

“Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Lock...”

“....no?” I chuckled softly. The big fool.

“You were in my dream, Lock. Ok? It was a nightmare, that's why I left. I needed fresh air. You and that harpoon were in my dream. You... you attacked me.” I wonder if he even remembers what I dream is. If zombies minds are wiped when they turn, how many ordinary things do they forget? Lock didn't even know how to draw, I'm not even sure he can read.

“I'm sorry..” No, don't say that...

“It's not your fault. It wasn't real. But it felt real. I'm sorry I left you alone in the house. I should have warned you. I probably scared you.” Was fear something he'd felt yet?

“..Scared?...I was....I don't...” Yeah mate, you were scared. Even if it was just a fleeting slip of emotion, you felt it. It must have confused you so much. Sorry Lock.

“It's ok. I'll warn you next time, alright?”

“I..I'll protect...you.”

“Thank's mate.” My undead knight in shining armour?...Or tattered coat.

“Come on, let's go inside Lock.”

“Ok.”

I help him up from the grass and together we walked back inside. I stay as far away from that harpoon as possible though. Dream or not. It's a fucking pig sticker. He seems to understand my uneasiness around the spear places in a cupboard as soon as we are inside. He follows me to the kitchen and watches me make tea. I think he's afraid to let me out of his sight. Perhaps he thinks I will disappear entirely if he turns his back for only a moment. I never thought zombies would get lonely, there are so many of them, but I guess without means of communication they can and do. Or perhaps its only him.

The only lonely monster in existence. 

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

“John?” Where are you? My senses tell me that you are here but I can not find you. Please let me know you are alright. It is not unlikely that my kind may still roam these parts. Please.. answer.

I repeat his name and my eyes spot a figure sitting on the grass not far from my location, I run to that spot and to my relief it is John. But he won't look at me. He only watches the sun and sky and the clouds. It's as if he does not even know I am there. He does not look well, his eyes are red and his face pale. His body quivers. He looks at me with hidden fear. He is afraid of me.

 “...J-john...?” I did not mean to frighten you..

“Yes, Lock. What do you want?” It doesn't sound right. He sounds fine but his appearance speaks louder than his words ever could. I don't know what I want. Unless, I want you John. I want a friend. Always by my side.

“I....I....you l-left.” I thought I might never see you again. That you wanted to leave, which is fine, perfectly fine. If that is what you want.. “....my fault?” I just want to know why.

He tells me it's not my fault, he gives me his reason for leaving but I must admit, I don't understand. Dreams? Nightmares? These things seem foreign to me. The words I know it's one thing to know the definition and another to experience it yourself. I do not understand, John. I am sorry if something I did made you see these things that haunt you. 

 “It's not your fault. It wasn't real. But it felt real. I'm sorry I left you alone in the house. I should have warned you. I probably scared you.”  Scared? Fear is for humans. But that being said, I do experience the feeling of fear. I fear becoming a bonie, I fear losing the progress I have already made, I fear not being understood, I fear being along. I fear loosing John. 

 "..Scared?...I was....I don't...” It's a weakness, isn't it? You. Fear. 

I told him I'd protect him, and I meant it. He was something that had become precious to me, in way nothing else had before. The only person to see who I am inside and the not the image projected to the world. He saw the sentient being inside with ideas and wants, needs and now emotions. He didn't see the walking dead, a plague ridden monster. He saw me. And I don't think anyone else has before. Because it feels new. 

I follow him inside and hide the harpoon. It's obvious that he is still nervous about it. I don't want to let him out of my sight. He said he won't leave me just yet, so what I am doing is illogical. But I will do it nonetheless. He makes some tea to calm himself down and sits with me in the living room. I push my drawings and art supplies out of the way. I must pack them up later. Why had I never taken up drawing before. I can not write and I can not read, but drawing may be a pathway to both. And a way to remember things when they are long since gone. Should I draw John? **  
**

* * *

We sit there in silence for about an hour whilst John slowly drinks his tea. I think he has a lot on his mind. He will want to leave today and head back into the city. That means.. the car. Maybe I can convince him to walk. His driving skills are horrifying but I suspect mine would be no different. But walking would also take us longer to get into the city. Which means more time with John. But I doubt he will listen. I just hope he will stop feeling afraid of me.

Thats my greatest fear.

 


	23. Chapter 23

**JOHN**

After finding an unused artbook in the study, the rest of the morning involved teaching Lock how to draw. By lunch time his ability was begining to surpasse mine, not that I had much of one to begin with. His artwork is at least somewhat recognisable now. I'm pretty sure that's supposed to be a skull, could be a rabbit though. I don't want him to have to stop but I know we have to keep moving, we have to return to the city. While he draws I pack our stuff back into the car, my only issue now is to figure a way to get Lock in it. Which will not be easy. It would be nice to simply stay here, but there are people back at the compound that need me and the medicine I can provide.

"Lock? It's time to go? Come on mate." I have no doubt that he heard, he's simply choosing to ignore me. Well two can play at the game.

"Fine, I'll go without you then." I turn and leave, I barely make it to the front door before a whirlwind of black and blue sweeps past me and places his body against the door.

"Move, Lock. We don't have time for this. We have to go. You can either come with me or stay here." I try to push past him but he's being very difficult.

"No."

"Lock. Move."

"No."

"Stop being so stubborn, please move now!" He doesn't, he thinks he can get me to stay just by covering this exit. Well, Lock, there are more exits in this house.

He quickly catches on, but I manage to beat him to the back door this time. The cat from the night before is waiting for me on the steps. It leaps into my arms and I cuddle it closely. I may just bring him with me. He'll need a name. What about Gladstone? I find Lock by the car, scowling. Well as much as a zombie can scowl. Which surprisingly turns out to be rather a lot.

"It, goes." He points to Gladstone, he'll go with me, but the cat has to stay here. Sorry mate, I can't leave the poor thing here when it obviously craves companionship. Sounds a bit familiar doesn't it.

"No, Gladstone is coming with us."

"Glad..Gladstone?!" I open the door and Gladstone jumps from my arms to the front seat. He curls himself into a furry ball and makes himself at home.

"Get in Lock."

"No, cat goes."

"No, Lock. Cat stays. Zombie, in now." I swear he almost pouts before climbing into the backseat.

Feeling satisfied with myself I slip into the front seat and put my seatbelt on. I'd found a few CD's in one of the kids bedrooms and put one in the disc drive before starting the car. We speed down the streets to Highway To Hell.

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

No, we can not leave now. Leaving means you leaving me. It means a permanent parting, no matter how much you say you will come back, you will not be allowed to. You must stay, please. Can't you leave your supplies to be found and come back with me? Why should they matter to you? They make your life miserable. I've made you happy, any idiot can see that. But then they are living and my heart is frozen, so perhaps they matter more because they are fragile creatures. And you feel it your duty to help them anyway you can, even if it's pointless. Because this world is pointless, isn't it? Every day the zombie hoard increases, as do the amount of bonies that exist. People curl up together in a prison of their own creation and for what? It's inevitable, there are too many of us. As much as I wish for you to never be like me, there chance that you will be is higher than 88%.

Perhaps if I had a heart I'd understand why you'd go back to something that causes you so much pain. Is there anyone waiting for you there? Does anyone miss you? Would they be missing you like I will be. With all their cold heart...when did I become so sentimental. I don't want to go back to the boring and mundane, the world was blue until you brought back the warm colours. I was content to be alone before because I was stupid, I was ignorant. But I'm not anymore. I'm learning more and more each day and I do not want to go back to how things were.

I should stop feeling sorry for myself. It's very unzombielike of me. Think happy thoughts.

What are happy thoughts...

* * *

I spend a hour of our journey glaring at the cat that John has had the audacity to name Gladstone. What a stupid name for a stupid animal. It continues to hiss at me whenever it catches me watching. I respond in kind until John threatens to hit both of us with rolled up newspapers. John's driving has only improved marginally. Perhaps it is because he is at a slower pace, or perhaps it's the new music that is blaring over the speakers. It's beautiful, haunting and calm. John said it was by someone named Bach. I wonder if I could keep the disc and find something to play it on. John can advise me on what is best.

* * *

BORED.

* * *

**JOHN**

We take the long way round and boy do I regret that decision.

* * *

 

5 minutes in: We stop so I can put Lock's seatbelt on properly. We do not sit in an upside down fashion in a moving vehicle.

* * *

15 minutes in: Lock starts hissing at Gladstone.

* * *

30 minutes in: He's still hissing.

* * *

45 minutes in: I threaten to hit him with a rolled up newspaper. He comments that he is not an animal. He sure acts like one I respond and he shuts up for the next twenty minutes.

* * *

1 hour in: I think he's sulking.

* * *

1 hour and 20 minutes in: He's kicking the passenger seat, Gladstone leaps to the head of the sit and swipes his claws at Lock.

* * *

1 hour and 35 minutes in: Lock is stretched out as much as his long legs will let him, on the back seat and Gladstone has decided to sleep on his stomach as some odd form of revenge.

* * *

1 hour and 50 minutes in: We stop the car while I explain we do not try and throw cats out the window.

* * *

2 hours in: We stop for lunch. Or rather I do. Lock is still sulking in the car. Of all the things he could have learnt or remembered, it had to be sulking. He's such an undead child.

* * *

2 hours and 10 minutes in: Lock says "Sign" everytime we pass one.

* * *

2 hours and 45 minutes in: I threaten to tape his mouth shut.

* * *

3 hours in: We stop again to fix a flat tire while Lock attempts to put Gladstone in the boot. I make Gladstone stay in the back and Lock in the front where I can keep an eye on him.

* * *

3 hours and 27 minutes in:...I think we're lost.

* * *

"Fuck." I knew I should have paid more attention to the road during our escape, but thing about running for your lives is you don't pay attention to where you are going. Luckily, I'd prepared for this when I borrowed a map from the study. I think we have to turn round. Brilliant, another hour with a zombie and cat in a small enclosed space. I open the door for Gladstone and start up the car again. Maybe the journey would be uneventful for now on.

"Sign."

* * *

20 minutes in: We stop the car to put stitches in Lock's scalp. Zombie or not, open wounds are not things to be ignored. I make a note to find a cat carrier as soon as we are in the city.

* * *

40 minutes in: Lock fiddles with the dashboard and manages to both break the windshield wiper button, blow up the cd player and change the date and time on the clock to 5:35 am 1895.

* * *

50 minutes in: Zombies should not be allowed in cars. Never again.

* * *

1 hour in: I can finally see London, thank, fucking, God. 

* * *

"Sign."

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

As soon as I see London ahead, I open the door and tumble out of the car. I don't care how far we have to walk. We are in London, that was the agreement. No more cars, John. Cars are evil inventions designed to bore their passengers and frustrate their drivers. Walking is much better. Oh stop glaring at me, we both know you are happy I am no longer in the car. You were threatening to put me in the boot. No.. no don't drive away.. John!

Oh very funny, waiting for me around the corner. Very mature, doctor.

* * *

Are we there yet?


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Made some graphics of this...if you check the tumblr tag you might find them. Or in my graphics tag....if you want to know my tumblr let me know..

**MORIARTY**

"You must be mistaken. Check again and do be thorough this time."

"I was thorough last time. I know I'm right."

He can't be correct, poor Sebby. It's just not possible. It's also highly illogical. And yet, I can hardly deny the truth I see with my own eyes. But zombies and humans are enemies. They don't work together. It's just not done. But the CCTV footage doesn't lie. Which means this requires further investigation. Perhaps this is the breakthrough I've been looking for.

"Sebastian! Guess who's going on another hunt?"

"Better not be me."

* * *

**JOHN**

I allowed Lock to walk beside the car as I slowly drove through the outskirts of London. There wasn't much left in the tank and eventually it shuddered and died. Wonderful. I exited the car, leaving Gladstone inside. Lock watched me, not bothering to help. I all but threw his bag at him, hitting him in the stomach and knocking him over. Serves him right. I pulled my own over one shoulder and picked up Gladstone from the passanger seat. We needed to find a cat carrier or something to keep him safe. Must be a pet shop around here somewhere.

"Get up you clot. We need to find a pet shop, so keep your eyes out." He gives me a confused look, probably due to the use of the word 'clot'. But he is one.

"Why?"

"To protect Gladstone and if you say Sign even once from now on, I will tape your mouth shut." He fellows me with a glare. Well he can be angry all he likes, I'm angry. Let's all be angry. Except Gladstone.

* * *

It takes us twenty minutes to find a pet shop, with Lock whispering sign whenever we passed one, daring me to tape his mouth shut, but knowing I wouldn't do it. Not with a cat to look after. I think we both need some time to calm down after working ourselves up during our "road trip." Lock kicks the door open and drops his bag by the door. The place is covered in dust and to Lock's delight, cobwebs.

"Spiders...John!" No more spiders, please Lock.

I close the door and let Gladstone explore while I look around. I find a suitable cat carrier as well as a few other supplies. Not much, since we'd have to carry it. But it was important for Gladstone to be protected. Though it might be safer to let him roam around now that he was out of the car. Still I could get him a collar and food bowl. A loud clatter of things falling to the floor makes me jump and I whip around, my gun out in front of me. But it's only a sheepish looking Lock.

"Stay still, will you, if you aren't going to be helpful. This is what you need, isn't it?" I held up a collar and leash. "To keep you out of trouble."

He looks at his feet, he feels bad then. Don't take everything to heart mate. Whether you have one or not.

"Lock.."

"Out.. side. I'll go.. wait.." No, Lock. Dammit. Make this all my fault. Gladstone purrs as if he's had a victory and jumps into my arms.

Sighing, I follow my ridiculous zombie outside.

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

It's not like I was doing things to annoy him on purpose. Alright, maybe I was a little. Ok, maybe a lot. But I didn't mean to make him angry. I was just concerned, he'd end up caring for a living thing more than me. But perhaps I'm being self centered, we barely know each other. Perhaps he doesn't care for me at all. Perhaps, no stop it. Don't think about it. Delete it. Wait.. what does that mean exactly? He's talking again, pay attention.

"Get up you clot. We need to find a pet shop, so keep your eyes out." Clot.. clot? Blood clot? What does he mean? Why am I a clot?

I ignore his threats and continue to whisper sign as often as I can. He never retaliates, just looks at me and sighs and then keeps walking. Some time later we stop in front of a shop. I throw my things to the floor in protest. What was the point in getting things for a cat? It still means you have to carry it. I'm sure it can take care of itself, John. Do be reasonable.

I trip over my own slow feet and fall against a shelf, it's contents falling to the floor. Oops? John looks at me like I'd broken his favourite toy. He's holding his gun. It's pointed at me...don't shoot.

"Stay still, will you, if you aren't going to be helpful. This is what you need, isn't it?" He holds up a leash and collar. "To keep you out of trouble."

I'm not an animal...

"Lock.." I'm sorry. I'll go outside so I don't bother you.

* * *

We walk in silence, neither of us know what to say to the other. I don't like cars, I don't like Gladstone. I do like John. But the previous two things have angered the former but I can't help feelings. Feelings are new. I need a lesson on feelings so I understand... the feelings. Instead I just get cruel comments and angry mutterings. I'm sorry, ok? 

_Sign_

Gladstone walks beside John, while I now lag behind. I want to mend things before he reaches his destination. Because that could be soon, I am sure he hopes it is. I stare at the pebbles on the road as we walk, big ones, little ones, blue ones, blood soaked ones...I hit something solid and fleshy and realise John has stopped moving. And I now why, we can both hear voices coming from around the corner....


	25. Chapter 25

**JOHN**

Shit, people. If they see Lock...well don't have to imagine what they might do. I know. They'll shoot him without a second thought. I kick a door open and push a confused and protesting zombie inside. I keep my back to the wall and pull out my gun. Just because they're living, doesn't mean they're good. Plenty of people out there, content to struggle along on their own, not caring who they hurt. The end of the world does funny things to people.

"John?"

"Sssh. Stay put."

"But.."

"I said shut up."

"Who's there?" Shit, thanks a bunch, Lock. I give the zombie a look of disapproval and close the door.

"Who want's to know?"

"Blimey John, is that you?"

It's Lestrade, oh God it's Lestarde and he's alive!

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

It's very rude to push people into abandoned buildings, John. No matter what the reason. At least give me some warning first. I ended up on sprawled on the floor, with stupid Gladstone on top of me. Why he decided to follow, I don't know. It's not because he likes me. We both know he does not. I keep my ear to the door, to push the letter grate just a bit so I could talk to John. But he only wants to tell me to shut up.

Rude.

"Who's there?" Oh right, because that is sure to work, John. Use your brain, it works better than mine.

"Who want's to know?" I wouldn't worry now, they seem just as..well I wouldn't call you stupid, but what you said was stupid, so...

"Blimey John, is that you?" Wait, they know you?

Is it a friend of John's? Will he go with him? Take him home? No, John you promised! It took all my restraint, which wasn't much, to not open the door. Because a living man who was not John Watson was on the other side of the door and I had no doubt that he would shoot me. But if I stay here, John might go with him. I wouldn't blame him if he did. I would never blame him for anything. But..I hope he at leasts says goodbye...

I sit with my back against the door and listen. Gladstone decides to climb into my lap. I wonder if he can fit through the letter grate...

* * *

**LESTRADE**

I knew we were looking for him but I didn't expect to find him that quickly. We'd only been looking again for a few hours. And here he was! Safe and sound too. Looks better than I last saw him, if thats possible. I clap him on the shoulder and congratulate him for staying alive this long, in a city filled with the walking dead.

"I'm alright mate. You?"

"Course I'm alright, John. Thought we'd lost you. Where've you been?"

"Not now, not here. Is there somewhere we can go in private?"

"Sure, come with me, the others are waiting other there. There's plenty of empty houses we can chat in."

Together we walk, John keeps looking over his shoulder. Poor guy is edgy, s'alright mate, you're with us now. You're safe.

* * *

**JOHN**

Lestrade looks fine, perfectly fine. I was worried I'd left him to die, but it seems I misjudged him, he was capable of holding his own against a zombie hoard I don't know how he made it back in one piece, but he did. Good for him. Sorry I couldn't have been of more help though. My fault. Well.. mostly Lock's fault to be honest. Shit, can't let him see Lock. I need to get him away from here

"I'm alright mate. You?" Got yourself a bit of a tan have you?

"Course I'm alright, John. Thought we'd lost you. Where've you been?" Oh I doubt you'd believe me if I told you mate.

"Not now, not here. Is there somewhere we can go in private?" Sorry, Lock. I'll be back.

"Sure, come with me, the others are waiting other there. There's plenty of empty houses we can chat in."

I promise Lock. I'll come back. Stay there. I want to tell him but I can't draw attention to him. I see him looking through the gate and mouth the words. But whether or not he understands...whether or not he does as his told. The latter is more unlikely. But then, he could explore the house while he's waiting. I hope he understands that this is temporary. I'll explain things to Greg and hope these.. others, understand. If they don't I leave them and make my own way to the compound. I can't risk your life to make my own easier.

I will come back.

I promise.

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

No.. John, where are you going? Come back! I want to open the door and grab him, but as I look through the grate, something in John's eyes, says no. He wants me to stay. But..I can't stay, what do you expect me to do? How do I know you will come back? You promised we would go together. You can't break a promise John. It's absolute. It's betrayal.

"John..."

"Meroaw!"

"Shut up." I am not petting you. Piss off.

"Mrrt."

"I said shut up!" No, don't paw at me.

I grab Gladstone by the scruff od the neck and put him somewhere far away from me. Might as well explore for the time being. If John isn't back soon..I will go looking for him. How do I know this people will let him return anyway. They might not listen to him. They might think him made and lock him up! An hour.. I'll give him an hour. I'm not sure how I'll know when it's been an hour...but it's important to make goals. I'll explore the flat, then look for John.

Gladstone, stop following me.


	26. Chapter 26

**SHERLOCK**

This house is moderately interesting. Family of five lived here. Two boys, one girl; the youngest. They have nice furniture, apart from the dust and cobwebs, the house is immaculate. I pick up a detailed model of the solar system, at least thats what I assume it is of, I am no expert. Gladstone has the same idea and bats his paw at the spinning planets. Horrible creature. I try to lose him by slipping into another room and closing the door. There, try and follow me now. I think I've picked one of the boys bedrooms. It's all in shades of black and red. I stretch myself out on his bedroom and star at the ceiling. How long has it been? How long has John been gone?

Something is clawing at the door. I fall off the bed and growl through the crack between the door and the carpet. A slim paw catches my hair and pulls. Blasted animal! I rip his claws from my curls and open the door, bearing my teeth. Gladstone jumps back and runs away, his tail kinked. Oh you think you are so funny don't you. Come back here!

* * *

**JOHN**

Lestrade led me back to a small group of people waiting just around the corner. Without talking we headed to one of the many empty houses in the street. The soldiers with them stood guard while we made ourselves at home in the living room. Hell one of them even started making pouring tea from a thermos. They were an odd group, Lestrade, two women, a young man with a disgusted look on his face at his surroundings and the government official I'd often seen around the compound. We sipped our tea in silence whilst I worried about Lock. Was he behaving himself? Probably not.

"So, you are Doctor Watson, pleasure to finally meet you." Finally meet me? What's that supposed to me?

"Um, same. Sorry, you are?" There is something about the man that tugs at my memory, not just from seeing him in the compound. It's something else...

"Mycroft Holmes, at your service. You've met Lestrade, meet his former team, Sally Donavan and Marion Anderson." Marion?! Oh the poor man. Actually that is pretty funny. "And young Miss Molly Hooper."

"Hello!" She waved at me very enthusiastically.

"Hi..why are you all here if you don't mind me asking? Can't all be here for me." Though I'm flattered if you are.

"Quite correct Doctor Watson. Finding you was only part of our mission."

"Thought it was something like that. So come on, why are you here?" Lestrade and this...Mycroft person, give each other a look. Are they going to bloody tell me or dance around the issue. I have a time limit here guys. Get a move on.

"What do you know of Sherlock Holmes?"

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

"Stop.. crying!"

"No.. don't..."

"Not.. my fault!"

"Shut.. up!"

I hate cats.

* * *

**JOHN**

"Nothing whatsoever." Name didn't ring a bell. Should it have?

"Are you quite sure, because you have been seen in his company." Mycroft produced a photo from his suit's jacket pocket and handed it to me. Seen in his company? The only person I'd been with lately was ...oh.

The photo was of Lock. Though a much younger Lock. At least a decade younger. He had a sour expression and a younger version of Mycroft holmes stood next to him, a bright smile on his face. Lock looked like he wanted to murder the photographer. So Lock's name is actually.. Sherlock? Weird name but I'm not one to judge. I have to admit I prefer Lock. It suits him somehow. Sherlock Holmes though, did they come here to rescue him? Surely they know he's..well dead. Especially since Lestrade would have seen him.

"Well?" Oh right, they'd be waiting for me to reply. I produce two of the polaroids from my wallet and pass them to Mycroft.

The rest were with Lock. These two were my favourites, the one of Lock with it's wide eyes and half smirk, and the one with him holding Bluebell to his chest with one arm, and drawing what I think is a duck, with the other. Mycroft takes them, surprised but curious. His eyes widen and he shows them to Lestrade. Also surprised. Well, I don't blame them. Lock isn't exactly a normal zombie. I should get back to him before he panics or something. God knows what he'll do then.

"Definitely him." Mycroft hands me back the photos. "Tell me about him."

"Can it wait? Only I left Lock by himself and he'll be bored to bits right now."

"Lock?"

"Sorry.. um...that's what I call him. Should have said at the beginning but everything happened so fast."

"Why do you call him Lock?" Mycroft sits forward, I sense he's very eager to know the answer. Especially since if I never knew his name was Sherlock, why would I call him by such a similar name?

"I didn't. It's what he calls himself." I stood, the others following suit.

"Zombies don't have names." Says...Sally?

"Well this one does. Is there somewhere else we can meet?" Mycroft nods but I suspect he has many more questions.

"You know Baker Street? There is a flat-"

I interrupt him. Sorry, not sorry. "221B right? Sorry, I left him with the cat. God knows what he's done to it now. I'll be there soon!"

I felt sorry for running out on them but my main concern was a panicked zombie and an angry cat. Neither should be in the same vicinity as the other. And given that we were mad earlier and the last time I left Lock he'd come after me with a spear, concerned for my safety, I should really make sure he's alright. The place is luckily not far and the flat is still intact, so everything looking good so far. The door is still on it's hinges. Lock is nowhere to be seen though. I push open a door, which leads to the living room and see little red paw prints covering the carpet, leading out towards ...the bathroom.

"Not my.. fault."

"Oh Lock..."

There is paint everywhere and one very angry ,and now red, cat.

Wonderful Lock, just wonderful.

"..Sorry."

"Sure you are. Come on, let's clean him up. And I need to talk to you about something. A very important something."

"Ok."

"You have a red paw print on your face."

"Yes."

"You going to wash it off?"

"...yes?"

"...Come here, you are utterly ridiculous."

"...no."


	27. Chapter 27

**SHERLOCK**

It's not like it's my fault, John. It was the _cat's_  fault. It got in my way and I knocked over the paint. You can hardly blame me for something that  _it_  did. I scrunch my nose as John wipes the paw prints off my face. Turns out there was more than one. Horrible animal. John gives me an exasperated look, which I'm not sure I quite understand before proceeding to wash Gladstone. The cat seems to actually like the water. Not like the other cats are you. Fine so we share one thing in common. Doesn't mean I like you. In fact.. I don't.

"So, that man I was speaking too, he took me over to a group of people and..." And what? Why won't you look at me?

"And?"

"...And well, they know you, Lock. Or rather they knew you, when you were alive I mean." They knew me? They knew who I was?!

I'm not sure how to process this new information. Part of me doesn't want to know, what they know. The other half is desperate of knowledge of my old life. But what if I was a bad person? What if I was horrible? I might have had no friends, I might have been lonely, I might have been hated. I'm afraid to know the truth. I want to discover it for myself or not at all. Will they force the truth on me? Or do I have the decision to not meet them at all? Leave things as they are, John goes and I wait and he comes back and we continue like before. But why are they here? And why now?

"Lock? You ok?"

"What?"

"I shouldn't have said anything. But I had too, they want to meet you and I wanted to warn you. But you don't have too. Ok? If you don't want to, I won't force you." John lifts Gladstone out of the bath, now stained red, and dries him off to the cat's utter delight. It purrs. How horrid.

Should I? Or shouldn't I? I don't know. I don't know what to do! I..can't decide.

"I.. don't..know." John grasps my shoulder and squeezes. It's an odd gesture but it's comforting.

"It's alright, Lock. They're going to Baker Street. Do you want to spend the night there? You don't have to talk to them, pay attention to them or anything. We stay there tonight, and leave again tomorrow. Either as one big group, or just you and me. What do you say?"

"T-to..together?" Just us, they don't come with us?

"Of course. We don't know any of these people, well I know one but, we trust each other, don't we?" If you only knew John.. you wouldn't trust me, and I regret it so much.

"Yes."

"Alright then." Gladstone licks John's chin and growls at me before heading towards the, now opened bathroom, door. "Let's go."

"Now?"

"Now Lock."

I follow him out, a million thoughts running through my head.

Well, probably not literally a million.

* * *

**JOHN**

Cleaning Gladstone proved easier than I imagined. Most cats hate water, Gladstone seemed to enjoy it. Which meant my only problem was Lock. He wasn't taking my news very well. His eyes were wide and he kept biting his lip. I would tell him to calm down but I don't think it would do much good. He just seems very confused, very worried and it's expressed all through his eyes and open mouth. All his emotion is expressed through his eyes, he still hasn't learned out to express it with a smile or a frown. In time perhaps. Or maybe it will always be this way. Who knows how far he will evolve and whether he will stop at a point and not progress further. That's a rather depressing thought.

"Lock? You ok?"

"What?" No, you aren't ok mate. It's alright, I'm here.

"I shouldn't have said anything. But I had too, they want to meet you and I wanted to warn you. But you don't have too. Ok? If you don't want to, I won't force you." I know they are waiting for us, but sod them. I don't know them. I don't want to force you to do something you don't want to do. Just because you're dead, doesn't mean you have no rights.

"I.. don't..know." Oh Lock. I squeeze his shoulder and he gives me a 'what are you doing' look.

"It's alright, Lock. They're going to Baker Street. Do you want to spend the night there? You don't have to talk to them, pay attention to them or anything. We stay there tonight, and leave again tomorrow. Either as one big group, or just you and me. What do you say?"

"T-to..together?" Of course, they can piss off for all I care.

"Of course. We don't know any of these people, well I know one but, we trust each other, don't we?" 

"Yes."

"Alright then." I finish drying off Gladstone and open the door for him. "Let's go."

"Now?"

"Now Lock." Come on mate.

* * *

We walk in silence, Gladstone occasionally darting in front of us or winding himself around Lock's legs, trying to trip him over. He succeeds once. Three times we had to run through alley ways and create shortcuts in order to escape from Lock's fellow zombies. Who aren't as human friendly as he is. It takes as over an hour to reach Baker Street. My fault, my shoelace got caught around the jagged edges of a gate. Lock tried to untangle it for him, but only managed to make it worse. He paused at the door of 221b after I opened it. He was afraid to enter his own house?

"If you want, you can go straight to your room and I'll talk to them, then talk to you." By your room I think we both know I mean the bathroom. Lock nods and pushes past Gladstone, who leaps up the stairs and stops whenever Lock reaches a particular step. I swear Lock will kick him if he doesn't stop being naughty. I watch Lock make a dash for the bathroom and slam the door. I listen to the voices coming from the living room and take a deep breath.

Time to talk about zombie detectives.


	28. Chapter 28

**SHERLOCK**

Someone has been in here, the bath is empty, all it's contents are strewn on the floor. I clench my fists, I don't like people touching my things, John is the exception however. The bath must never be emptied, because then what lays at the bottom, can be seen by all. For some reason it must never be seen. I don't know why, but it's what I think of when I look at the dark, red stain. It feels wrong. It's too much blood for someone to lose and live. I throw everything back into the tub, there was no order to it, I did so under a compulsion I didn't understand. And when it was full, I lay face first on top of the pillows, cushions and blankets. The bathtub was also my birthplace. It is simultaneously my crib and my grave. My last and first moments took place where I lay. Strange they should be in the wrong order. People are born first and die last. Isn't that correct? Is that not how life is supposed to be? And yet I died and was born again.

I feel a large furry foot on my cheek and place my hand just in front of it. I feel it's little legs testing my hand before walking across it, not sure if I was safe. I'm not sure either furry one. He is a lot larger then the spiders that usual live amongst the webs in my ceiling. He must be new. John has Gladstone, maybe I should have this one as a pet. I could call him...Grimm. I do understand John's need for an animal companion, a pet. He wants something to care for, something that will love him unconditionally and provide him with warmth and ease the loneliness that lies close beside his heart. Which means back home, he has nothing, he's alone. And I can't provide him with the warmth and love he desires because I am dead. I can't ease his loneliness because I can not return with him. I too often thwart his attempts to take care of me because he is a doctor, he takes care of so many others, why can't I be the one he does not have to worry about. But he does anyway. And I don't feel like I deserve it.

"It's not fair, little crawler, he will hate me before this is over. When he finds out the truth...he will no longer wish to be my friend." I whisper to the little spider, who can hold all my secrets and never breathe a word. The perfect listener. "The others will take him away and I will be all alone again..."

It was hard enough the first time, I fear it will be worse if it happens again.

* * *

**MYCROFT**

I expected that when Doctor Watson arrived, my brother would follow. However the good doctor was alone, save for a small, slightly red, tabby cat. Was he unable to persuade him? Was it even possible for him to be persuaded? I doubt very much that a member of the walking dead, even my brother, would be capable of being reasoned with. This is of no consequence, we will simply use other means to capture him. Doctor Watson seemed very at home as he strode into the kitchen and proceeded to heat up the kettle. He had left two large bags by the living room door, he could not have possibly carried both himself. But the only other explanation was preposterous.

"Doctor Watson?"

"One moment! Tea is nearly done." We just had tea a few hours ago, doctor. I am sorry if it was not too your liking.

Watson passed around cups of steaming hot tea, proper tea at that. I wonder where he found it, leaves of such quality did not exist within the compound. It is sublime. But I must not allow myself to become distracted. I am here about one thing only. One person. As I glance around the room, I see I am not the only one with questions to be answered. They are waiting for me to start. I will not disappoint.

"Forgive me, Doctor Watson but where is my brother?" I see Watson's brow furrow as he tried to remember who I meant. I had not directly referred to Sherlock as my brother but I would have thought the photo of us would have made it obvious. Perhaps not.

"Oh! You mean Lock. He's hiding." Hiding? Why would the dead want to hide from the living?

"What do you mean hiding?" Lestrade had finally found his voice.

"I mean exactly what I said. He's hiding. He's..concerned about meeting you all. He's-"

"Zombies don't get concerned, they don't get anything."

"Sally, let him continue. Though she has a point mate."

Watson put his glass down by his chair and leaned forward. Sargent Donavan had a point, the dead do not feel. That is in part why they are so dangerous to the living. But unless Watson has projected human feelings on a corpse, and he seems a smart man I doubt this is the case, perhaps my brother, has become something more. Something different. But such things are impossible. That would mean a cure or a treatment at the very least, for the walking dead. Unless we have misjudged an entire race of creatures purely because they can not speak. Though they do attack us without provocation, which hampers someone from using that line of defence. I sense Watson has a lot he wished to tell us but no idea where to begin.

"It's hard to explain."

"Then begin at the start, Doctor Watson. Tells us from the beginning what happened. You may skip the particulars, but you must tell us why you think he feels. The dead are unable to feel or think anything and it is clear you disagree with this. Please." I waved my hand for him to continue, eager to hear the answer.

* * *

**JOHN**

I felt their eyes following my every move, they don't know me, they are wary of me. It's an interesting feeling. It's also an annoying feeling. I tried to be courteous and make them a cup of proper tea, not that pathetic imitation they gave me earlier. After several teas drinking good tea, I'd forgotten how bad it was back home. It's strange how much at home I felt here. I'd left my bags at the door and headed straight into the kitchen, as if I did so every day. I can see living here if things were different. Perhaps one day I can.

"Doctor Watson?" Oh right, the tea.

"One moment! Tea is nearly done." I pour several cups and slowly share them to my waiting audience. I felt almost a perverse sense of delight as I watched their faces whilst they sipped the tea. Now that my friends is a proper drink.

"Forgive me, Doctor Watson but where is my brother?" Brother..wait Lock is his brother? I thought old friends, there isn't much in the way of family resemblance.

"Oh! You mean Lock. He's hiding." Actually he's just being unsociable. No, that's a bit harsh. He is very conflicted at the moment. Understandable, I would be too.

"What do you mean hiding?" Lestrade asked with a note of disbelief in his voice.

"I mean exactly what I said. He's hiding. He's..concerned about meeting you all. He's-"

"Zombies don't get concerned, they don't get anything." Hey, listen here, don't talk about things you don't understand. Maybe the rest of them don't, but this one does!

"Sally, let him continue. Though she has a point mate." Thanks Greg.

Where does one begin? How do you explain a new concept to a group of people who may not believe a word that comes out of your mouth? Alright Mycroft, I'll start at the beginning.

* * *

I tell them about how we met, how Lock took me home and introduced himself. I told them about his progress, how one word turned into two, then three, and perhaps soon even four. Incredulous snorts sounded throughout my speech, coming from the same three people. Miss Hooper and Mycroft however, hung on my every word. Lock's emotional journey was hard to explain, because he is unable to fully articulate how he himself feels most of the time. But emotion was always present in those two, grey orbs. Lock had a sense of humour, he could think, I suspect better than he lets on. He feels fear, he's stubborn and cheeky. He gets bored. How many zombies get bored?

He's unique, special and my life has become better just from meeting with him. He is not like the other zombies, he's more evolved than them. My zombie friend still suffers from the effects that come from being a walking corpse but he doesn't let them get in his way. Unless he is trying to be difficult, then they are the hardest things to deal with in the world. I know they might not believe me, I wouldn't believe me had I not experienced all this for myself. Or seen the fear and confusion in his eyes when I discussed with him this very meeting. He froze, he has never frozen in such a way before. It was like his brain was a computer overloaded. Which is why he is currently hiding. He can't process what I've told him, or doesn't want to.

"I don't care if you dismiss everything I say. I don't care if you don't believe me. But every word I've said is true." This very house is proof that he is different!

"It's... it's a lot to take in mate.." I know it is. But you will all have to accept it if you even want to get close to him.

"Would you mind letting us talk in private for a few moments, Doctor Watson? Perhaps check up on dear..Lock." That's actually a pretty good idea. By right back.

"Sure. Just call out when you need me."

"Thank you."

Lock better not be covered in bloody spiders again, or so help me.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry for this being late. I had a recent review (and I appreciate all reviews) that just made me worry about the quality of my writing. It was described as emotionless and sterile. Which was never my intent when writing this fic. I want to convey emotion, not the opposite. So I apologise if its come across as that. I'm not a great writer, never pretended to me. Would love to be though. I've also never written in first person before. So I'm constantly confused which tense to use because sometimes any could work, sometimes its clear only one can. My vocabulary when reading is high, when writing its like it all disappears from my head. My grammer and spelling is atrocious because I write extremely fast to keep up with the story running through my mind and my hands are often bandaged, gloved or just painful in general. So I make a lot of mistakes. Often very stupid ones like the wrong word because what I type and what I think aren't always the same. I'm writing a word but I've written the wrong word or spelled it wrong because when I was reading it my eyes glossed over it, I'm reading it in my head and not on the page.
> 
> I try and correct everything I see after its done. But as I said, sometimes I miss things, its obvious to the reader, who didn't write it, but not to me. Thats why betas are important. I want one, I don't have one. People have offered and then never responded when I ask for help or say yes. Sometimes my timezone is even a factor. I'm not trying to excuse everything thats wrong with my writing. I want to be better, I know I have come along way from trying to write stories in school. But theres much better fanfic writers out there that could write this story better than me. But its in my head and it needs to get out whether my writing is shit or not.
> 
> Long story short if you came hear looking for an amazingly written fanfic with brilliant dialogue and a well written plot, then you probably came to the wrong place. One day perhaps, I will be capable of writing that. But it is not this day. This story has already received reviews on AO3 which had never really happened before. And never so quickly has a story of mine been favourited or reviewed. It may not be well known among the fandom (i wish my fics were omg that would make me so happy) but I love each and other person who takes the time to read this and my other fics and not care about all the mistakes, all the poorly written chapters. You still come back, day after day and thank you so much.
> 
> I am trying to up my game now, things will start happening. The only thing I can promise is that I write in character. And something sad will happen to out zombie detective.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you all so much for your reviews. Though I want to stress the reviewer was not negative or a troll or anything. That was simply how they viewed my writing and I wanted to make sure no one else did, as it was not my intention for it to be viewed that way. Thank you so much for your offers of betaing this fic but I have since chosen one. But I have several other fics that require betaing. Some are finished, some are ongoing. So if you are interested let me know.
> 
> Thanks again w really. It means a lot. (this fic isn't beta'd lol, in case you were wondering. The next one will be and I will slowly have the previous chapter's done so...yeah look out for that. Also this fic is going to be translated! Into.. russian? I think...not sure. Anyway, that's exciting :D)
> 
> And I've drawn three pictures so far and two other people have drawn pictures of this pic. I can't put them in...but I can link them if people want..
> 
> Yeah.. enjoy this filler chapter.

** **SHERLOCK** **

They're taking an awfully long time. Surely all John needed to say was "Sorry, not interested. Bye!" And yet he's been simply ages. At least I've had Grimm to amuse me. And the contents of the bathroom drawers. I may or may not have constructed a model of a house using toothbrushes, bandages and other assorted items. And I possibly drew a bee in toothpaste on the mirror...Point is, if he doesn't return soon I may go mad. Dealing with boredom is obviously not one of my strengths. However I can clearly be very creative when trying to relieve it.

I was in the middle of constructing a slingshot of sorts when I heard something scratching at the door. When I turned, I could see a little paw reaching underneath the wood. I do not want to let him in. I turn back to my project. Slowly the door creaked open. It had not been completely closed as I had led myself to believe. In a flurry of movement I leaped into the bath and attempted to hide. Maybe he would bore himself and leave.

"Merow?"

Don't answer, it's a trap.

* * *

After ten minutes of hearing nothing more from the disgusting creature I peered over the edge of the bath to see if it had left. It turned out to be right next to the tub, just waiting. It leaped into the bath and onto my chest. Get off! I considered grabbing it by the scruff of it's neck and throwing it out, but I'd already received stitches today as a result of manhandling the cat. I don't think John would be too happy to have to stitch up a new would so soon after the old one. So I let Gladstone stay on my chest, not out of the kindess of my heart, but out of laziness and a desire to remain whole. Sensing he'd won, Gladstone moved and then curled up on my stomach. John of course chose that moment to enter the bathroom. Good! He can get this.. thing off of me.

"John!"

"Hey mate.. they wanted to talk in private, so I came to see how you were doing..." Ah! Thank you John.

"Save me..."

"Save you?..Oh!" John leaned over and lifted Gladstone off my stomach. Great, my coat is covered in cat fur. Just what I wanted.

"Thank.. you"

"Don't mention it. I just came in to..is that a spider on your head?!" I cup Grimm in my large, cold hand and place him onto my chest.

"Yes."

"Oh God, Lock. Why?!" I'm sensing that John might have a fear or strong dislike of spiders...

"He's...my p-pet."

"Your...Lock, spiders aren't pets!" Well mine is! I turned away from him, careful to not jostle Grimm.

"Lock...alright. He's your pet. Ok, I get it. What's his name then?"

"Grimm."

"Grimm? What sort of name is that?" That's a bit insensitive, John.

"Gladstone."

"...Alright fair point." Thank you.

* * *

"Are you still sulking?" Maybe.

"Look I need to talk to you. I talked to them about you. Told them what you were like, how you acted, how you feel. Not sure if they believed me or not. I think what I'm trying to say is, do you want to meet them. They badly want to meet you, mate. But you don't have to. If it's too hard for you I understand."

I felt his hand once again, placed on my shoulder and I leaned into it. I know I have a choice but it's such a difficult one, how do I know if I have chosen correctly? What if I regret my decision? And if I do meet them, will they tell me who I was? What I was like? I'm not sure if I want to know. I'd rather find out for myself or not at all. John will be with me though, won't he? If I go and meet them? I turn my head and look into his concerned face. Yes, I am sure he will come with me if I ask. He cares too much.

"I.. don't know.."

"It's alright mate. What about meeting them one by one perhaps? Or meet one of them first, then meet the others? We don't have to jump head first into this."

"I .. don't know!" I don't know, John! Ok?! I...I.. can't do this. I want both options available to me. But I also want neither of them. I don't know what I want. I always know what I want. I think I'm scared, John. What do I do?

* * *

Perhaps I should just let John decide. I trust that he will make the right decision. And if things don't work out, I can always scare whoever comes in, it's not difficult. Simply bare your teeth, growl and drool a little and pretend that you are about to leap towards them. However there is a possibility that they may be carrying weapons, so that might not be the best course of action. Pity, it sounded fun.

"John?"

"Yes, mate. What's up?" The sky? Spiders?

"Would you...c-choose?" I could have sounded a bit less terrified then, I think.

"Me? Sure. Uh...ok. Give me a minute to think." What's there to think about? Yes or no? Rather simple don't you think. At least it is when it is not your former life and memories hanging in the balance.

I let John sit with his back against the tub and contemplated on whether or not I should throw a blanket over him. He looks cold. I also have a strong desire to create a fort of some kind. Anything to take my mind off his approaching decision. I wonder what cons and pros he is thinking of. What reasons he will use to eliminate one choice. Are they the same as mine? I've often wondered how his mind works. It stands to reason that a living mind works faster than a dead one. After all it can take me awhile to reach a conclusion on something. Or to remember where I'd put an object when asked. I know my brain is slower than John's, however I can observe in a way he can not. I can make the connection's that his brain doesn't know how to do.

"Lock?"

"Yes..." Well?

"I have decided, that you should meet them. But one at a time. At least, for the first person. I think you would both benefit from meeting each other. However I will tell him that if you express a desire to not learn anything about your old life, then he is to respect that. Alright?"...I suppose I have no choice, as I have been unable to make one.

"...Fine."

"You sure?"

"Yes." No.

"Ok, I'll go tell him. You stay put." Where would I go?

Am I going to regret this?

* * *

**MORAN**

I do believe this will be a pointless endeavour Capturing a zombie isn't easy and he expects me to capture one that exhibits a higher level of brain function than most of the walking dead. Plus, he has a human with him. An armed human. But's he's the boss and I can't say that it isn't an unenjoyable experience working for him. It used to pay extremely well. Back when money was important. Now it gets me free board and meals, something to stop the boredom and it keeps me alive, keeps me sane. He's not though. Doubt he ever was. The mad genius type he is. A genuine mad scientist. When he gets bored of his experiments it's my job to get rid of them.

A lot of them fail. This thing, this project he's been working on, he's desperate to get it working. Want's to rule the world, but discreetly. Find a cure for this apocalypse, but keep a supply of immune zombies at his estate. But the problem with the undead is that they don't follow orders. They can't, nothing upstairs. But if you could harness that dormant brain, that dead flesh and you could control it. Imagine what you could do. Who you could control. Dead or alive. I don't know. I don't understand half the things that come out of that mouth.

But that's why he's become so obsessed over this particular zombie since he saw the footage. If it's capable of this level of thinking, it's more suited to his experiments. Just an issue of finding the thing and bringing it with me, without getting bitten or getting shot by his.. handler? Companion?

Should be fun.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for this being so late and unbetad. I've been having difficulties getting onto this site to upload files. And its also been hard trying to find a time both me and my beta are awake and able to communicate. XD timezones. So apologies for any mistakes in this chapter. The next one will be mainly Mycroft and Lock.

**JOHN**

I left Lock to his own devices, which probably wasn't a great idea, and headed back to the living room. I was pretty confident in my choice, it made the most sense and I'm sure they will all agree with me. Well most of them. It's how Lock will take things when he meets them, that's what I'm worried about. And how will Mycroft react to my zombie mate? They already seem to have their minds made up about him..

"Ah John. Welcome back. We were just wondering if it was possible for you to try and...convince 'Lock' to let us see him?"

"Actually, I have done just that. Though not all of you at once. Just one for now. Is that alright?"

Mycroft nodded. "Sounds quite reasonable. May I go first?" I got the feeling that this wasn't a request.

"Of course, follow me. See you all later."

I left them to entertain themselves and wonder, and headed back to the bathroom. I paused in front of the door. I ought to warn Mycroft that it was perfectly possible that Lock would completely ignore him. And for him to also be careful of what he said. Lock could quite easily get the wrong idea about something, or simply just not understand. He was quite intelligent but could be incredibly dense. Maybe I wasn't giving Mycroft enough credit, he is Lock's brother after all. He has known him far longer than I, though I am sure the Lock I know, is different from the Sherlock he knew.

"He's in a mood right now so...good luck." I considered for a moment going in to explain things to my grumpy zombie friend but Mycroft had already pushed past me with a nod and closed the door behind him. Well then, arrogant much?

Good luck Lock...

* * *

**LOCK**

When the door creaked open I was surprised. I knew John would return, but so soon? Had he not been able to convince them that meeting a sulking zombie, one person at time, was a good idea? I could see their point, they believed I was less likely to eat a person if there was more than one. Wrong! It had never stopped me before. But it would be bad form for me to make a meal out of John's friends. I'd already done that, I don't need more reasons for him to hate me. So I saw no reason to look up when the door closed behind the rooms new occupant. But when the footsteps on the tiles were not those of John's sensible shoes, but those of expensive loafers, I turned.

The owner of the shoes was tall, taller than me by at least an inch. He wasn't dressed for an apocalyptic warzone like his men. But he wore his suit like it were armour. The fabric perfect, without wrinkles or tears, and no doubt as pristine as it had been the day he brought it. His hair was a dark auburn. Since I was unable to read his expression, I frowned and returned to my sulk. The man said nothing, no doubt studying me as I had him. It was the strangest thing but when I had looked at him, one word had popped into my head.

Fat.

Which made little sense as the man was no such thing.

"Have you turned your head because you are afraid of me? Or perhaps you hope that by ignoring me, I will simply leave. I suspect it is far more likely that you are sulking or a mix of all three. I must assure you that I will not leave and that you have no reason to fear me." His pompous voice got on my nerves.

I could hear him shuffling about as he searched for somewhere to sit, settling for the floor. The sounds of his obvious dismay and discomfort pleased me greatly. I hope he tears the rear of his suit pants.

"How long can you keep this up? I will stay here all night if I have to. All I wish is to see you and speak with you."

You are seeing and talking to me. I'm just not replying. Though I suspect that if I do nothing, I may be at risk of a scolding from John. He has not been happy about my behaviour since the incident with the Car. Which must never be spoken of again. And I had agreed to see his friends. I could have refused, I should have. And if I do nothing now and this man leaves and tells John, these "people" may stay here even longer than necessary.

Fine. Have it your way. I'll talk to you, as little as possible and then I expect you to leave. I turned onto my back and sat so that my head rested against the tiled wall.

"Have we finished sulking then?"

"Yes." I muttered under my breath, still refusing to look at him. I could taste the smug satisfaction.

"Marvellous. Now if you could turn so I could have a proper look at you?" I obeyed, glaring as strongly as possible. If looks could burn, this man would now be ash. Grimm moved from his previous spot to my left cheek. I stroked his short, bristly fur-like body. I hope this man is afraid of spiders. The man stood, wincing, his back seemed to be causing him pain. Good. He moved to kneel by the edge of the bath and cupped my chin in his manicured hand. I don't know what he was looking for. At first his eyes were soft, saddened by what he saw, but by the end of his examination it had been replaced by another unreadable expression. I didn't like not being able to know what this man was thinking.

"Well you seem to be in a good condition for one of the undead. Few small cuts, no doubt you have more wounds beneath your clothes. Good. Very good, in fact. Now you have questions. Ask them." Nosey busy-body.

Questions hmm? Well I suppose one was fairly obvious.

"Who...are you?" I saw his eyebrows raise for a fraction of a second when he heard me speak for the first time. He hid his surprise well.

"My name is Mycroft. Mycroft Holmes. I am your brother."


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ones a little longer, hope thats ok. Apologies for any missing a's or double aa's. My keyboard either doesn't registered it, or registers it too much.
> 
> Enjoy.

**SHERLOCK**

...What?! No, what? I have a brother? How could I have a brother? The photo of myself as a child and the older boy slipped into my mind and I removed the item from my coat pocket. The other boy had the same eyes and hair colour as the man before him, as well as the errent curl. I wondered if there was a part of him that wasn't as uptight as he seemed, and it expressed itself through that curl. I couldn't be sure, but the man did indeed resemble the boy in the photo. If the little boy with the dark curls is me, then this man is telling the truth.

"May I?"

He...no what was the name? Mycroft? What sort of a name is Mycroft? Who looks at a newborn child and dubs them such a ridiculous name? Our parents apparently. I handed the photo to him and watched as a fond smile made it's way past his emotional barrier. The photo was familiar to him. I could tell by the way his finger absentmindedly stroked the paper and by the almost far-away look in his eyes.

"We were going to a wedding that day, Mummy wanted you to leave the dog at home but you insisted. She always did spoil you. Her little angel. Pity you didn't act like one." Mycroft smirked, his mouth falling at my look of confusion. "You used to smile so much and then one day you just stopped. I.." He seemed surprised to have uttered that last sentence. As if it was a thought he didn't mean to utter. I stopped smiling? I wonder why.. something must have happened. It's not really important now I suppose. He handed the photo back to me. I think he expects me to say something. What am I supposed to say in this situation?

"S-sorry I don't..." Damn word, I can never say it properly. "Memory...I don't...memory." I don't remember. Say it with me, mouth. Come on!..Bloody piece of flesh. Good for nothing except stuttering and the occasional meal. Mycroft looks like he's in pain. Why? Was it something I said? Or... how I said it...

"It's alright, I don't expect you to. The very fact you have evolved so much is nothing but a miracle. It's supposed to be impossible." Supposed to. Supposed to's are made to be thrown away and ignored. Rules don't apply to the dead.

"Why.. here?" Why ARE YOU here. For the love of Poe!

"To find you, of course. Lestrade told me he had seen you, so I made a decision to come and find you." I sensed he had more to say, but he kept it to himself.

"Lest-rade?" No, I'm pretty sure thats not how you say it. Why couldn't these people have nice, easy and normal names like John. John. It just rolls off the tongue.

"He's not important right now. You'll meet him later. I came to bring you home."

"I am home." Wow, that sentence was almost perfect.

"No, dear brother. To the compound. We can examine you, hopefully find a cure. We can help you."

Examine? I was stuck on that word. I didn't hear the rest. ...They examine me? Run tests, experiement? I'd be like a lab rat, a guinea pig...no I don't want that. I want to stay here! But.. John would be going to the compound.. No I am not a thing to be used. I highly doubt these people, so called doctors or scientists would not consider me sentient. Just because I can't physically feel pain, doesn't mean things don't hurt. I shook my head.

"Lock.."

"No."

"They'd be helping you."

"I'm fine."

"Lock.." He was beginning to sound annoyed. Two can play at that game. And one can win.

"No! I stay here!"

"You have to come with me! I.. can make you come whether you like it or not." It was the look of regret that told me he was certain he could, but felt would feel guilt if he was forced to use it. No one makes me do things I don't want to do. Except maybe John. I stood, letting a low growl rumble deep in my throat. Mycroft took a step back but maintained his composure.

"NO! PISS OFF!" He tried to get me to lower my voice. Fat chance. Ha, fat. Seeing it now.

"SHERLOCK HOLMES, I ORDER YOU TO STOP!"

Sherlock Holmes...

Was that my name?

I did stop, I leaned against the wall and stared. My name. I had a name. A real name. Though, I think I prefer Lock. But a name...this answered so many questions. So many...I didn't even hear the door open, or the exchanges between John or Mycroft. I didn't even realise John was there until he was in the bath with me and his hands were on either side of my face.

"Lock?" The voice was gentle, it washed over me, into every crevice. "Mate, you alright?"

"Name.."

"Sorry?"

"I have.. a name..." I could sense him smiling.

"You always had a name, Lock. Now you have two."

"I do?"

"Yes, most people have more than one name. Now what was all that fuss about?" The anger returned and I tried to take a step towards my "brother". John held me back, he had no fear, despite the fact that he was restraining a zombie.

"He...wants to take..he..people expery...peri-men..." Argh! "Ex-pery-men on me! No!" Not perfect but it will do. John turned and shot Mycroft a glare of his own.

"I won't let him. I told you, you don't have to go with them."

But his people will take me against my will, John! I will have no choice! No freedom. Nothing.

You won't be able to help me, John.

* * *

**JOHN**

I've never heard him yell like that before. His voice was not only full of anger, but I could sense fear. I assured the others I would deal with him and to stay where they were, and then rushed to the bathroom. Lock was against the wall, shaking with fury. Literally shaking. Of all the emotions that he was learning to express, why this one? Mycroft shouted his name and I could see the change in my friend almost immediately. It was shock and confusion. His hands went limp and he just stood there, staring at nothing. Brain overload. I stepped over the edge of the bath and stood in front of him. I pressed my hands on both cheeks and forced him to look at me.

"Lock?" He didn't seem to hear me. "Mate, you alright?"

"Name.."

"Sorry?"

"I have.. a name..." I smiled.

"You always had a name, Lock. Now you have two."

"I do?" Oh, that look was so innocent mate, it's not decent for you too look so young and vulnerable. You're dead.

"Yes, most people have more than one name. Now what was all that fuss about?" The anger returned and it took all my strength to keep him in place.

"He...wants to take..he..people expery...peri-men..."He growled in frustration. "Ex-pery-men on me! No!" I glared at Mycroft who responded in kind.

"I won't let him. I told you, you don't have to go with them."

Lock didn't seem to believe me. He shut his eyes and muttered to himself.  _Don't go. Don't wanna go._ I wanted to punch his brother for provoking such a reaction, but I could understand his reasoning. But Lock could not, would not understand. He was certain that going to the compound would mean imprisonment and experimentation. And he's probably right. Even if it could help him. I tried to stop him pulling at his hair, taking his hands into my own.

"You don't have to go. And even if you did, I would go with you. I would stay with you, Lock." I'd try to protect you.

"No, no, no."

"Look you don't have to make a decision now. Just think about it. They could make you better, Lock."

"I'm fine."

"You're dead, mate."

"I'm dead fine." Was that a joke?

I gestured for Mycroft to leave, he did so regretfully. I made Lock sit back down in his 'bed' and tried to keep him calm. Times like this I wish he could sleep. It would do him so much good. The door opened again and I see Lock's bag pushed through the doorway. Mycroft knew, how did he know I wanted to fetch it? I left Lock alone for one minute and opened the bag. I took out a spare blanket and Bluebell. I gave him the rabbit and draped the blanket over his head and shoulders. The distraction worked. He held Bluebell and pulled the blanket further down his face so he couldn't see me.

He was shutting me out. No mate, you don't get to do that.

"Please..need space..." Ah, alright, but just for a moment.

"Call if you need me, I'll just be in the kitchen, ok?" The blanket nodded.

I left him to his thoughts and decided to express mine with a certain government official.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just saw Warm Bodies again! It was at the Astor cinema in a double feature. I think I converted everyone who saw it with me. Woo~
> 
> Enjoy this chappie. Next one will have some humour in it. And other things.
> 
> Like nipples.
> 
> Heehee.
> 
> ALSO SOMEONE GIFTED AND DREW ME A THING! It's Lock with the tesco bag full of tea! It's a related work to this, idk how you find it, but sbfhdjbgjhsbghjdfbghjdfbgdf

 

**JOHN**

If I had to pick one word that described how I felt right now, it would probably be fuming. I was pissed off, ready for a fight, ready to knock some sense into that rich, suited arse. I chose him first because I thought he could explain things to Lock, all those things he's wondered about, the things he was desperate to know. But Mycroft only made things worse. He angered my friend, and as a zombie, that's really not a smart idea. He also revealed his full name, which had put Lock into some form of shock. Yes it would be great if Lock came with us and we could help him. However, I can understand his reluctance and why he may be frightened. Mycroft did not have to threaten his brother the way he did. Maybe that used to work, maybe it never worked. But it was unnecessary in this case.

I found Sir Fancy Pants in the living room, pacing. Lestrade and the others watched him, waiting for an answer about what had transpired. I had the sudden desire to grab the man by his collar and throw him against the wall. To make him feel the fear Lock had felt. The raw terror. I took a deep breath and released it. Mycroft turned and found himself a seat. He placed his hands in a steeple that rested against his lips. Why do I feel like I'm the one in trouble? He has no right to make me feel that way.

"You had no right to threaten him! I could have convinced him to come!" Well possibly.

"It was necessary."

"It bloody well was not! What right do you have swanning on in here, yelling at him and scaring him like that?!"

"He is my brother, you would do well to remember that." Sodding piece of...

"That means nothing here or to him. He doesn't know you. Don't you understand? He thinks you want your people to experiment on him. He doesn't understand things as well as he once did." I assume he did once. Maybe.

Mycroft said nothing. So I continued my rant, I was just getting started.

"Think of him as a child, Mycroft. His emotions are new, zombies don't generally have them. Lock does, but he is unfamiliar with them. Anger, fear, sadness. These are new to him. Three negative emotions, and you made him feel all of them. Well done."

"Lock, is not a child, Doctor Watson."

"Maybe not in a literal sense. But Lock gets confused when I'm angry, like it's his fault. He worries if I'm not in his line of vision. He's naive. He's only just re-learned how to draw. He has a stuffed animal named Bluebell. Lock maybe an adult by human standards, but he's been in this state for what, five years? Sherlock Holmes may be in his thirties. Lock is five. He's ignorant and incredibly intelligent at the same time. What you did, was wrong. Intimidation only angers and frightens him. He hates being pushed around, but he does not understand why your anger was directed at him."

"Stop thinking about him in human terms. The dead, the walking dead, their minds follow different rules. It's time you realised that. Sherlock Holmes is dead. He might come back one day, who knows. But Lock, Lock is 'alive'." Technically he's not. But he walks, talks, has feelings. Thats enough to qualify as alive, isn't it?

* * *

**MYCROFT**

I did not need to be lectured on my behaviour towards my brother. It had been necessary. He needed to understand that such insubordination was not tolerated. My only desire is to help him. Trying to scare me away will only lead to failure. However, Doctor Watson did have a point. Lock is not the same as Sherlock. Perhaps I should have realised that sooner. I was blinded by the belief that he may still be in there. He might be. It is possible. But right now he is not. Lock needn't fear the compound. We would not strap him down and experiment on him as he fears. Unless we had no choice. Unless he made things difficult for us. But we would be helping find a cure. Does Lock not wish to become human again?

If he does not feel pain, what is there to fear?

* * *

A child, yes he is that. Always was. Isn't everybody? Most of us keep our inner child inside, hidden and in chains. Sherlock was young, full of fire and excitement. Always bounding off to the next adventure, the next mystery. Lock is the same in a way. But where as Sherlock was loud, Lock is quiet. Sherlock had an extensive vocabulary, Lock has trouble with the simplest word. Sherlock kept his emotions under tight wraps and Lock wears them on his sleeve. They are two different people, in the same body. One day I hope they merge and the brother I lost will be returned to me. But I may have to face the facts. He may come back changed.

"Perhaps.. you are right." John's eyes grew wide, this was clearly not the reaction he was expecting.

"W-what?"

"You are right. Do not make me repeat it again." I do not admit such things often. "Lock is a child, in many ways. A human adult and a zombie child. But I only wish to help him. Is there not some way we can convince him to return with us? Think of the progress we could make." A cure now seems possible, if Lock is capable of evolving. We simply must discover how it is possible.

"Maybe. But not tonight. He's been through a shock. You told him his name, you threatened him. He needs space. You lot can make yourselves comfortable around the flat. Theres food in my pack if you need it. I'm going to make myself some tea and kip in the bathroom tonight." That is reasonable I suppose. I could stand to sleep on the couch for one more night. Doctor Watson may borrow my sleeping bag.

"Very well. We will continue this discussion tomorrow."

* * *

**JOHN**

After thanking Mycroft for the use of his sleeping bag and savouring a nice warm cup of tea, I hesitantly opened the bathroom door, closing it behind me. Lock was curled in the bathtub, the blanket covering his entire body. I swept away the dirt and dust with my hands, wiping the mess on my pants. After placing the pillow and sleeping bag in position, I crept towards the tub. I knew he wasn't asleep, he doesn't sleep. But he might still be in shock. He'll think himself silly and into all sorts of trouble if I don't stop him.

"Lock? Mate, it's me. You alright." I received a muffled answer in reply. I lifted the edge of the blanket and saw two pale eyes staring back at me.

"What?"

"Confused."

"It's alright to be confused mate." He shook his head. Lock likes answers. Figuring them out is a source of fun, but not when its also a source of worry.

"Don't think about it. Think about something else." Wish you could read mate, that might have taken your mind off things.

"Can't."

"Yes you can. Look I'm staying here with you tonight. We'll talk about things tomorrow. Is that alright?" A shrug. Very helpful.

"Fine." I let the blanket drop again so I could change into my pyjamas. Looks like it's going to be a a long night.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long. I've had writer's block, a few birthdays (one of them my own, ... I kinda missed it, I slept through most of it >.

**Sorry it took so long. I've had writer's block, a few birthdays (one of them my own, ... I kinda missed it, I slept through most of it .) and finished the Cornetto Trilogy. My hands have been bad and right now they are very itchy so Im sorry if theres any mistakes. The 'A' key is still broken too btw. Hope this is ok!**

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

He didn't have stay here. Even if one of the intruders has taken his bed, he could take the stuff off mine. Or there was the flat below mine. There was also nothing stopping him from sleeping in any other room in this flat. So why this one? I lifted the edges of the blanket, John was changing. He removed his top with ease, the scar standing out amongst once tanned skin. It was like an unfurling flower. None of my scars held such beauty. Maybe it was a human thing. He pulled a grey shirt over his chest and stood to remove his trousers. He...he has red pants. Very red pants. And a nice bum.

Oh God, I didn't just think that did I? It was just a general appreciation of his body. That's all. It's a nice body, nothing wrong with it. Not like mine. Long gangly limbs, skinny torso. I don't have much meat on me at all. And the less said about my face the better. But John...no, stop thinking about this. It's absurd. Think about something else. Science, mathematics, etymology, history, anything! Before I pulled the blanket over my face again, I stole one last glance at John. He's wearing my pyjama pants which are still too long for his short legs. At least they fit him.

He's about to turn around so I quickly let the fabric fall and curl back on my side, so I'm facing John's side of the room. I can hear him scuffling around the room, brushing his teeth, relieving himself, adjusting his 'bed'. And then he turns off the light and slips into the sleeping bag.

"Lock?"

I briefly consider not replying. "Yes."

"Everything will be ok, I promise."

"Fine." If you say so, John.

"I have this idea, I'll share it with you in the morning. You don't have to go with them, just remember that." That is tremendously easy for you to say. I feel this Mycroft controls more power than you.

"Ok."

"Night, Lock."

"G-good night, John."

* * *

I wisely spent the night worrying and plotting my escape.

* * *

**JOHN**

I woke up to the sound of footsteps outside my door. Sleeping in a bathroom was really a stupid idea, but at least there was more than one toilet in the flat. The last thing I needed was people barging in through out the night. Thankfully that didn't happen. I had a good nights sleep. The room was still dark, but I could hear Lock moving around, either out of boredom, restlessness or trying to untangle himself from his blanket. It turned out to be the latter. When he finally managed to stand, still with the blanket over his head, he tripped over the edge of the tub. Fortunately for him I could see this was going to happen, catching him before he did any damage to his cold, dead but impossible, brain.

I received no thanks, only a glare when he finally wrenched the dreaded fabric from his head. I could make out his hair standing on end, going every which way was an amusing sight. I tried to hide my grin, but his quick eyes saw everything and he turned his back to me so he could sulk. I threw the blanket back over his head, ignoring the angry groan and went to turn on the light, my eyes had adjusted already to the darkness, so I spent the next few minutes squinting and blinking.

Lock finally managed to remove the blanket again and pouted. That was a new one. Usually he just made puppy dog eyes in my direction until I relented. I wonder if he knows he's pouting or it's an unconscious expression. One step closer to a smile, mate.

"Now, none of that nonsense. I'm going to get some tea, you can stay here, or come with me." Despite his earlier refusal to leave the bathroom, he stumbled after me, blanket around his shoulders like some cartoon Indian Chief. Maybe he thought everyone would be gone, or maybe he was just that bored. Luckily for Lock, everyone was still asleep when we entered the kitchen. I know it won't last, the minute the tea is ready, and it's smell enters their noses, they'll be in here in a flash. Unless any of them prefer coffee. If so they are out of luck.

Lock perches on one of the chairs, still wrapped in his blanket, despite his hatred of it moments before. Perhaps its a security blanket. It's not as if he's cold. Zombies don't feel the temperature. Good for them, it's fucking freezing. I had my jacket on already and was seriously considering going back for the sleeping bag. While I brewed several cups of tea, Lock played with the utensils on the table. He quickly got bored and started scrunching up paper into balls and throwing them at my back. In retaliation I unfolded one and re folded it into a paper plane. I shouldn't have, Lock began to hassle me to teach him, meanwhile the tea was ready.

"Not now, later, Lock."

"No, teach now. Must learn." Later. Let me enjoy this please, mate.

"Later I promise."

"Better."

He returned to his paper balls, probably considering throwing them at the intruders in his house. He'd only just realised they were still here. All strewn across the floor like discarded dolls. Lestrade was half on, half off one of the arm chairs. His mouth wide open, a little bit of drool was trickling down his chin. Mycroft was asleep on the couch, his body far too tall for it. His legs hung off the edge in a comical fashion. The rest were on the floor. Except the women, but I suspect they were asleep in my room.

"Bored."

"Be quiet, Lock. You don't want to wake them do you?" He gave me another glare which made me chuckle.

He definitely didn't.

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

They weren't so intimidating while asleep. I knew they wouldn't be, that didn't mean I would trust them. Especially not Mycroft. But my curiosity could no longer be contained. I had to know who they were, what they did, what sort of people they were. But I could only observe so much from sleeping bodies so I turned my mind to other matters. Like staving off boredom.

John didn't appreciate my paper balls. I wasn't trying to annoy him, well maybe a little. But the paper creation that spawned from his hands, it flew! But it was paper. How did he do that? He had to show me.

"Teach, teach!" Sometimes, well most of the time, when I was excited about something, what little grammar I had was thrown out the window.

"Not now, later, Lock." Later is not what I want.

"No, teach now. Must learn." You aren't doing anything.

"Later I promise."

"Better." I'll hold you to that promise.

I let him return to his tea, which was far more interesting than flying paper. I returned to screwing up paper into balls and throwing them around the room. I half considered throwing them at the living room's sleeping occupants. But John stopped me with a look. Plus, it might wake Mycroft. However entertaining and satisfactory it would be to throw things at his head, I don't want to risk waking him.

"Bored."

"Be quiet, Lock. You don't want to wake them do you?" No, but maybe they are deep sleepers.

John chuckled and I pouted, glaring a whole into his teacup. It didn't explode like I wanted it too. Tea, tea, tea. Thats all John thinks about. How did he survive so long without it? Now he couldn't get enough of it. I'm not going back to find him more. John grins over his cup and I respond by storming out of the room in a huff. That would teach him. Besides theres only so much one could do while waiting for idiots to wake up.


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOOK A LONG CHAPTER, OMG!
> 
> YAY.

 

**SHERLOCK**

I headed to my room. Perhaps something in there can cure my boredom. I had been pleased to discover no one had decided to use it except, to my utter disgust, Gladstone. The foul animal sat amongst the boxes and assorted items as if he owned the place. I had half a mind to throw him out the window. He'd land on his feet, surely. The other half bemoaned this idea, John would be angry and we mustn't make him angry. I'd heard him yelling at Mycroft, he had quite the temper. But why did it bother him so much? It hadn't been directed at him.

Most peculiar.

Ignoring Gladstone's protests I lifted him by the scruff of his neck and deposited him on the floor. This did not deter him. He jumped back onto the bed and looked at me, as if he were daring me.  _Come on then, just try and stop me._ The game is on. I picked him up again, dropped him outside the door and was about to close it when he raced back into the room and hid under the bed. I growled in frustration, the beast replied with a chirp. He's laughing at me, I swear it. I dropped to the floor and tried to reach under the bed, receiving three new claw marks along my arm for my troubles. John won't be pleased. He insists on stitching and at the very least examining any and all new wounds I sustain. Ridiculous really. Zombies don't bleed, we don't get infections, the wounds don't hurt us. But John is a doctor. He is probably unable to help himself.

Gladstone purred contently. I would have to find a way to lure out the creature. I'll give him to John and let him deal with it.

* * *

**JOHN**

It didn't take long for people to wake after Lock had left. He timed it perfectly. The tea was well appreciated by all. Though I made Mycroft get up to fetch his own. The room was silent as everyone calmly drank from assorted cups and mugs. Lock does not seem to own enough teacups. He has two, plus a bright yellow mug with a smiley face, a blue mug shaped like a dalek that looked unused and a set of five ramekins in rainbow colours. No one seemed to mind though. I gave Mycroft the one with the smiley face, the look he gave it was reward enough.

"Thanks mate." I smiled back at Lestrade as he handed me a blue ramekin. "Don't suppose you have any food?"

Grinning I opened my backpack and pulled out a box of dry biscuits and handed them to Greg with a a jar of strawberry jam. I wish I had some proper breakfast foods, but I'll have to wait until I return home to the compound. But Greg seemed happy enough, passing them around to everyone, who had already eaten most of their own food supplies. As I took the used cups, mugs and ramekins back into the kitchen, I could hear the distinct sound of a cat's howling cry. A very angry cat. I apologised to everyone and left the room, following the cat's cry. They led straight to Lock's bedroom. Wondering what I would find and hoping Lock hadn't hurt Gladstone, I pushed open the door.

* * *

The cat was on his head.

To be specific, one paw was clawing at his ear, another had it's claws hooked into his nose, pulling it upwards. A third was covering his eye, I was unable to see the fourth. Lock was trying in vain to remove Gladstone. Muttering curses and stumbling over his insults in his anger. One arm was flailing, the other held a scrap of Gladstone's fur in his hands. I have no idea what started this fight, but it was clear that it was going to be up to me to end it.

"Alright, calm down you too." Lock gave me a look of pure fury, I ignored it.

I motioned for Lock to bend over, he's ridiculously tall. He didn't obey me immediately, but Gladstone's claws started to dig in dangerously close to his eye, leaving him little choice but to lean down far enough for me to pry the cat's paws, and claws, from his head. It wasn't easy, I received few small scratches of my own before I managed to remove cat from zombie and deposit cat in an empty room for time out. Now I had to take the zombie to the kitchen and examine his wounds. All three of us were now in bad moods.

I pushed Lock in front of me in case he decided to misbehave and run back to the bathroom. I needed to check his wounds since they don't heel. If they were too deep they would need to be stitched up. He maintained that he was completely fine and I was over-reacting, though not so eloquently. I ignored it. After pulling out a chair and practically forcing him into it, I rummaged in my pack until I found the first aid kit. I didn't realise we were being watched until I noticed that Lock was unusually quiet. Even though he felt no pain, he was a stubborn little git who felt the need to complain or fidget nonstop. Instead he was staring at the floor.

I looked up to find everyone watching us. "Can I help you?" I asked with a frown. Lestrade and Mycroft looked away. Anderson and Donovan found the wallpaper fascinating. Only Miss Hooper met my eyes with a smile. She wandered over till she was standing opposite me by Lock's chair. She watched me slowly stitch up Lock's second head wound. Lock began to open and close his hands.

"Is he alright?"

I grinned." He just lost a fight with a ferocious feline."

Molly giggled and I was sure I heard Lock mutter  _didn't lose_. I ruffled his hair and put everything back in my kit.

"He doesn't feel pain. He just finds it annoying." Molly nodded.

Lock's feet began to tap the floor and I could tell by the position of the lower half of his body that he was preparing an escape. I placed a hand on his shoulder and shook my head. As much as I knew Lock did not want to meet everyone else after the fiasco with Mycroft, it was important that he realise they wanted to help him. And not all of them were like his big brother. I was hoping they might convince Mycroft to not go through with his plan after they met him.

At least that is what I'm hoping for.

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

I don't like cats.

I don't like cats.

I don't like cats.

Especially ones named Gladstone.

GET IT OFF!

JOHN, JOHN GET IT OFF ME!

It's a monster, John!

"JOHN!"

"ME-ROW!"

"Alright, calm down you too." I am calm!

Not the eye, not the eye! Blasted animal.

John managed to remove the creature from my scalp and locked him in another room. Finally. Now I could lie on my bed and mope like I had planned. John grabbed my coat collar and pushed me in front of him. No John, this is not necessary. I am fine now, no, let me go!

"John, I'm.. fine. Stop this immed...now!"

He pushed me into a chair and started examining my head and face. This is pointless, I don't bleed and my wound's will not get infected. I considered making things difficult for him, so he would sigh and leave me alone. Not permanently. However I noticed that we were being watched. Wonderful. Do not make eye contact. I couldn't draw attention to myself.

"Can I help you?" I almost answered, until I realised John was challenging our 'guests'. Thank you John.

"Is he alright?" A quiet, but concerned voice answered my doctor.

"He just lost a fight with a ferocious feline."

"Didn't lose." I muttered under my breath. It was important they both receive all the facts.

The girl...I don't know her name, giggled. No one had introduced themselves, how rude.

"He doesn't feel pain. He just finds it annoying." Well it is annoying. It's inconvenient.

* * *

I could hear the sound of John putting his equipment away and prepared to escape as soon as he was distracted. I didn't want to stay here any longer than necessary. But John's hand wouldn't leave my shoulder. John, I can't stay here, let me go, I'll behave I promise. But John just shook his head and smiled. I don't like where this is going. You promised me, John. You promised you wouldn't make me go with them. I tried to stand but John sat me back down and told me too relax. I can't relax! Mycroft might decide to remove me from this place at any moment. Do not give him an opening. He's not to be trusted.

* * *

**MOLLY**

Poor Sherlock, if I didn't know any better I might think he was frightened. I was surprised when Doctor Watson brought him into the kitchen to treat him. I hadn't expected such a quiet zombie, despite John's outburst last night. Perhaps he is just not used to a room full of humans. Humans hunt his kind, it's understandable he'd be wary of us. Though it should be the other way around. But he's quiet adorable with those big wide, almost sorrowful eyes and when Watson ruffles his hair, the curls dancing. He even pouted when Watson mentioned a fight with a cat.

"I'm glad he doesn't feel pain. I can imagine that the undead get themselves into a lot of hot water."

Sherlock... I mean Lock. I suppose I must call him that now. Lock tilted his head and made a face. I don't think he understood that term. How strange, I'm so used to him knowing everything. Though he was spectacularly ignorant about some things. Though I always suspected that sometimes he did understand but would rather not admit that he did. He had a reputation to maintain.

"Lock especially. It's his forte." Lock crossed his arms, I recognised the symptoms of a sulk. John mentioned he was new to emotions, since zombies weren't supposed to have any. He seems quite adept a this one.

"I don't think he's very happy right now, must he stay here?" Doctor Watson nodded and drew me to one side, away from eavesdropping zombies.

"I need for everyone to see he's not a threat and that you guys can't make him do something he doesn't want too."

"Even if it will help him and others?"

"Yes. He doesn't want to and he has good reasons. Maybe he might change his mind one day. But I can tell the idea of going to this place frightens him. He's prone to fear."

"Probably because he has something in his life that he's never had before, and doesn't want to lose it."

Sherlock is not the only one with deduction skills. I hit the nail on the head if the look on John's face was anything to go by. He nodded and stepped back, Lock was watching us and it was clear he had heard every word.

* * *

"I'm sure you three are having a lovely conversation in there, but don't you think you ought to introduce the others to my brother? After all, nows as good a time as any."

Sometimes Mycroft Holmes can be very rude and you want to slap that smug look off his face.


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not perfect, A key still not working, not beta'd etc. Hopefully more Lock and Lestrade in the next chapter. And what's happened to Moran?

**JOHN**

For the love of- Is it possible to want to agree with someone but also want to break their nose? Because that is how I feel right now. It's not as if he doesn't deserve it. It would actually do him some good. I look over at Lock, he's not exactly enthusiastic about the whole idea. But he loves facts, he's probably been annoyed that he knows no ones name other than his brother's. If he even thinks of him as his brother. But as much as it pains me to say it, Mycroft is right, Lock needs to meet everyone and they need to meet him.

"Lock?" I left Molly and knelt beside Lock's chair.

"John...?"

"Is this alright with you?" Lock shrugged, clearly either not caring, or he felt as if he had no choice.

I patted his shoulder. He was still quiet and submissive, like he was afraid to be himself. He shouldn't be, if these people tried to hurt him, they'd have to go through me first. Ok, how to do this? Keep it simple. I can do that.

"Well you already know Mycroft." I heard Lock murmur the word fat in my ear.

"Lock..." I couldn't help grinning.

"Well..he is."

"I think my ears are burning." Mycroft commented from cross the room. How did he even hear us?

"His ears...on f-fire?" Lock seemed too pleased at the idea.

"No, um, it's an expression, Lock." A disappointed look crossed his face.

"Pity."

" _Any_ way, that's Mycroft, this is Greg Lestrade." Greg coughed and smiled, giving a little wave.

"The people behind him are Sally Donovan and, uh, Miriam Anderson."

"Mee..rium?"

"What of it?!" I waved a hand at Anderson to tell him to calm down. But I still heard him utter the word  _freak_ , causing Sally to elbow him in the side. Lock's face drooped.

"Uh and this is Molly Hooper." I gestured to the young woman beside me who smiled and waved enthusiastically.

Lock looked back at me, his eyes speaking volumes.  _Get me out of here. This was unnecessary. I'm bored._ Didn't he understand the importance of everyone meeting each other? Probably not.

"Lock, you...you knew every one of these people when you were alive." There, I said it.

I watched Lock's eyes grow wide in astonishment. He stared at them, then at me.  _You can't be serious,_  his eyes said.  _That's impossible._ Greg placed his hands in front of his chest, in a gesture of good faith. Lock wouldn't meet his eyes, but stared at his hands as Greg made his way through the maze of junk that covered the floor. He stopped in front of Lock's chair and pulled another one out from beneath the table. Lock's arms, still folded cross his chest, tightened.

"Hey, mate. It's nice to meet you."

Lestrade, I bloody love you. He was talking to Lock, not as someone he once knew, but as someone he had never met before. He was treating Lock as if he was his own person. Which he was, but it was a concept that the other's hadn't grasped yet. Lock didn't respond, but nor did he glare at the ex DI. I don't think he appreciated everyone staring at him. I can't blame him, but nor could I stop them. Greg met my eyes and I shrugged. I couldn't force Lock to respond.

"Well I tried. Can't say I'm not used to the silent treatment from him." Greg took me aside, Molly moving to stand beside him and chatter in his ears. "Maybe this is too confronting for him. Let him go somewhere private and we'll come to him."

"No offence, but we tried that."

"You tried by starting with Mycroft. Bad idea, he's desperate to take Lock back and help him. He means well but his ways of 'caring' aren't going to be understood by She-..Lock." Lestrade had a point. If Molly and Lestrade were to speak privately with Lock, they'd do a much better job of it, than Mycroft Holmes.

"In the end, it's up to Lock." Greg grinned.

"Then, we'll just have to ask him." I stole a glance at Lock, who's eyes were pleading with me to stop Molly talking.

"Good luck." You're going to need it.

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

When can I leave? This is tedious and unsafe. You have no reason to keep me here, I've learnt my lesson, John. I promise to leave Gladstone alone if you let me go. John left the mousy girl and knelt beside my chair. What? What's that look for?

"Lock?" That's my name, yes.

"John...?"

"Is this alright with you?" Is what alright with me? Oh, the introductions? Of course! I'd already observed what I could about these people, but a name to put to the faces would not hurt.

"Well you already know Mycroft."  _Dangerous,_  I categorised him.

" _Fat.._ " I whispered.

"Lock..."

"Well..he is." John grinned and I wish I could join him.

"I think my ears are burning." Rude. Don't interrupt.

"His ears...on f-fire?" What a wonderful turn of events~

"No, um, it's an expression, Lock." Oh, damn.

"Pity."

" _Any_ way, that's Mycroft, this is Greg Lestrade." A tall, peppery haired man waved from one of the arm chairs.  _Safe._

"The people behind him are Sally Donovan and, uh, Miriam Anderson." The two people he gestured at scowled at me.  _Dangerous._

"Mee..rium?" You have to admit, it is a ridiculous name. Isn't that a girl's name?

"What of it?!" This Anderson fellow bellowed from the corner of the room. John tried to quieten him as the female elbowed him as the word  _freak_  passed his lips. My face fell, my eyes dropping to the ground. I didn't need him to tell me that. Clearly I was a freak when I was alive as well. The word slipped from his tongue as if he used it regularly. John, I want to go now. I don't like it here. I wanted to be angry, but it wasn't in me today. Only pettiness.

"Uh and this is Molly Hooper." The woman from before smiled too brightly and waved. She seemed friendly enough.  _Safe, probably harmless._

I turned to look John in the eyes.  _Get me out of here. This was unnecessary. I'm bored._ I know you understand my John, no matter how long we've known each other. But John didn't seem to understand. Or he chose to ignore me. He bit his lip and looked to the floor, then back up at me.

"Lock, you...you knew every one of these people when you were alive." What?

 _You can't be serious, John._ I'd know if I knew these people. Wouldn't I? But then I didn't know about Mycroft. And he's my brother. None of them seem familiar. I have no memory of before I died. Still, to meet people from before that time, it is a lot to process. I'd learn more were they closer to me, but I didn't wish for that level of closeness yet. The silver haired man slowly walked towards myself and John, trying to seem as if he was not a threat. He pulled a chair out and sat in front of me.

"Hey, mate. It's nice to meet you." You already know me, stop pretending. Or...does he know the old me? Sherlock Holmes. I am Lock, the Sherlock half of me is no more. So, I am sorry, your greeting was correct. But that does not mean I will trust you.

"Well I tried. Can't say I'm not used to the silent treatment from him." I wish I could smile. He takes John to one side and I am unable to hear their conversation. The Hooper girl almost skips to my side and starts to babble. And doesn't stop. John, help me. She keeps talking and I can't understand her. It makes no sense. Make her stop, John.

"... Hope you don't mind if I look around, I've only explored the room I'm staying in. I suppose it's Doctor Watson's room really. Well not his room, but where he was sleeping before. That's why he went to sleep with you in the bathroom. It's a funny place to sleep, sort of adorable though I really I-.." John please make her stop.

"Then, we'll just have to ask him." Ask me what? I'll let you ask anything if it will make her stop.

"Good luck."

"Lock, let's start over, why don't you and me go and have a chat somewhere. Is that alright? Somewhere less...intimidating."

What are you implying?


	36. Chapter 36

**LESTRADE**

Five minutes later and he's swanning out of the room, the bloody coat of his fluttering. Might as well follow him. He made a detour at the bathroom to grab a bag and then headed to his bedroom. He pushed nearly everything off the bed and flopped on it with the bag. I shut the door behind us and sit on the edge of the bed. Lock glared at me as he rifled through his bag. He pulled out papers, photographs and drawings. And then went through some of the boxes as well. I didn't want to disturb him, he seemed very focused on whatever he was doing. Red ribbon flew over his head and onto the bed, followed by a box of push pins.

"Talk." Direct and to the point. Well some things never change.

Lock climbed back onto the bed and stood up, removing the small framed certificate the adorned the wall above his bed. He started to attach the photos and papers to the wall with the pins.

"What would you like me to talk about?"

"Don't.. c-care. Talk."  _Give me something to work with here, sunshine_.

Lock sat back down and began to cut up the red ribbon.

"Ok. Well, um...how long have you been a...have you been de-...how you are?"

"What?" Don't give me that look! I was trying to be polite.

"How long have you been like this?" I gestured to all of him. This still seemed to confused him, until the eyes grew wide with some understanding.

"Five?" He nodded to himself. "Five...uh.. annual..." The word he wanted floated around, I knew he meant years. It hurt to see him unable to talk. He'd been bloody good at it, the sod.

"Five years...well...you must have been lonely." Except most zombies don't get lonely. I'm not even sure if Sherlock could even be lonely.

"Yes." He didn't look at me, but that quick answer saddened me. Sorry mate. We tried to get you out. Ill never forgive myself that you ended up like this. But then, you might never have met John.

"And, you don't remember anything?" Lock shook his head, his eyes never leaving to bed as he continued to cut the ribbon.

"Wait..."

"You do?"

"Word. One...-Lock." You remember the word Lock? Bit odd. But you are a bit odd mate. Always were.

"Lock. Is that all?" He looked up and stared at one of the windows.

"Man.. he...yelling." I frowned as he seemed to reprimand himself whenever he couldn't get his message across. "He y-yelled...Lock."

Lock.. Sherlock. Did he hear someone yell his name, but can only remember the last half? But when would he have heard it before he died? Unless...fuck. I screamed out his name, before the closed the doors to the hidden entrance of the wall. The wall of what is now the compound. Our safe haven. I remember us all running. Sally and Anderson, Mrs Hudson and Molly. And me and Sherlock. There were soldiers with us and bonies after us. Sherlock stopped to smash one over the head, it was too close to Mrs Hudson. He pushed her in front of him and I grabbed her arm. Everyone was telling him to hurry, because the doors were automated, they were closing. But he never got to us in time. I yelled out his name as he ran away, to find some other way in, to find safety? Now I know what happened after that. He must have run into some zombies. And...well the rest is right in front of me.

"Stop it."

"What?" Lock stared at me, clearly annoyed. I know that look.

"Thinking."

"Yes, problem?"

"Annoy..it bothers." Sorry, I can't help thinking, mate. Though I found myself smiling just a little. That was very Sherlock.

"What are you working on?"

He lifts a polaroid camera up to his face and takes a picture of me.

"A map."

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

I had to make a map. Not one for finding your way from point A to point B. But a map of people, places and other relevant information. I began to pinning photos, papers and drawings to the wall. I took one of...George? Gabe? Gray. No..Greg! I'll just call him Lestrade, I can't be expected to remember everyone's first name, my brain is dead. I'm a high functioning corpse. No, that doesn't make sense.

I took Lestrade's photo and added it to the wall. I connected one end of a ribbon to him and the other to John. I'd met him through John. And then connected another piece of ribbon to him and the other end to a photo of me from before I died. I'd found it on the coffee table. Clearly belonging to Mycroft. I will have to take photos of the others. Now, how did I know Lestrade before I died. Old friend? Neighbour? Is he family? Anyone would be an improvement on the one member I have at the moment.

"You know..me. How?"

"Well, I don't know if I should tell you. I mean what if you remember? People say you should let people figure out these things for themselves."

"People... boring." I dismissed these "people" with a wave of my hand. I would like a proper answer please.

Lestrade chuckled. Why? "I suppose some are, yes. Well, you used to work with me. I was a Detective Inspector with Scotland Yard."

Detective Inspector...what did that mean? Think, think! Detective Inspector, DI..Police! Oh I am stupid. Was I in the police force?

"Police?" I pointed to myself. He shook his head. Then how did I work with you?

"You consulted. You were a consulting detective. The only one in the world. You invented the job. Always had to be different."

Consulting Detective? What did that even mean? Only one in the world...oh thats rather good. But I need more data. I can't make bricks without clay. Or a mind map without facts.

"More."

"Well, if we needed help on something, that we hadn't been able to solve ourselves, we'd ask you."

"Why?" Surely police could solve such crimes themselves. Isn't that their job?

"Because you saw things. You observed. You would take in things that people hadn't noticed, or had noticed. And you would deduce."

Deduce. I like that. Perfect word. But what does it mean?! I don't understand!

"How? How?!" He shook his head sadly at me. I threw my hands around, frustrated.

"I can't tell you. The only person I know who can do what you do, is your own brother. You haven't...deduced since you've been like this have you?"

I might have, if I knew what you meant. Unless, my observations are unusual. Because I know things without knowing why. Is that what he means? Before I died, maybe I knew the why, the how, the what and when and where. I'm just missing the pieces. I'm a broken puzzle. I throw the box of pins at the wall, annoyed with myself. Lestrade picks them all up and closes the box. He keeps telling me things are ok.

Are they? Are they ok? Every time you look at me, you're sad. Why are you here if you aren't going to help me understand? You wanted to talk to me for a reason.

"I need...I need more."

"Alright, sunshine. You can ask me any question you want."

"Are you...friend?"

"Yes mate. I was your friend. Or I tried to be." I don't like that answer. Was I  _your_  friend or were you mine? Did I have any friends? What sort of person was I? Was I a good or a bad person. I need these all answered!

This is going to take awhile.

I need more data.

And photos.

And John.


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This probably has a lot of spelling mistakes but Ill fix them tommorow. Its late but I wanted to post this before I went to bed.
> 
> Sorry we're still stuck at 221b. I'm trying to get them out soon!

**SHERLOCK**

I left the room only briefly, to take more photos. Lestrade stayed in my room, I asked him to sort through some of the files in my boxes. He seemed happy enough to help. Perhaps I will ask him about them later. I took another photo of John, who stuck out his tongue. The Molly girl tried to hide her face, I don't know why. Eventually I managed to take a picture of her. Mycroft virtually scowled when I appeared beside him, the camera in his face. He looked hideous in it. Perfect. The last two, the idiots, protested the need for me to take pictures. Although the one with the big hair didn't seem to mind as much as the one with the silly name.

Satisfied with my photos, I ventured back into my room. Lestrade was sorting the files into two piles. I ignored him, pinning my new photos to the wall and trying to figure out how they all connected. I needed to ask more questions. Good. I like questions. Though I prefer answers. But since I have none, questions will have to suffice.

"Lest..Lestrade. Tell about...them." I pointed to the ones known as Anderson and Donavan.

"Well, they used to work for me. Still do in a way. Anderson was with forensics, he works in a science lab now up in Medical. Donavan was my sergeant. She's with Supply I think now. She bunks with Molly. Why?"

"Why... here? Why they... come?" I really need to work on my grammar. It sounds alright in my head and sometimes out loud. But it is easier however, to sometimes omit words, so that the flow is quicker, rather than disjointed. I still haven't quite got the hang of talking faster.

"Well they used to know you I guess. Besides, they said if I was going, they were coming with me. If you asking what are they to  _you_ , well I wouldn't say you were friends, but you weren't enemies. A mutual dislike I guess. But they wanted to come, which means I guess they cared about what happened to you."

So they hated me. Somehow that does not surprise me. I am getting the feeling I didn't have many friends prior to us parting ways. But I have one now, and that's all that matters for the moment. Whatever reason my former self had for not wanting friendship, has nothing to do with me. I am sure they were good reasons. I connected ribbons to both Anderson, Donavan and Lestrade. And then ribbons to myself. I wish I could make some marking that indicated how they connected. But this will have to do for now.

"Who...is M-Molly?" Who is she to me?

"A friend I suppose. She liked you. I think you liked her. She was a mortician. She still is, gets a bit of hate directed at her because of it now, but she doesn't let that get to her. She's changed a lot..." That last part is interesting, why has she changed? And a mortician? I suppose a zombie apocalypse would be immensely interesting to her. And I would be interesting to her as well. A living corpse. Well, sort of living. Why do people hate her?

"What?"

"Oh she's.. she used to be quite shy. She still is but she's grown a lot since the old days. Doesn't put up with anyone's shit if she can help it." He sounds proud. As if she were his daughter.

I connected Molly's ribbons to both him and me. I'd already connected Mycroft's ribbon, but added his new photo. I put Johns with the other photos on the wall. He now had four. I should find something to put these photos in once I no longer need the map. I sat back down and looked at the files. I wonder how he sorted them.

* * *

**LESTRADE**

I didn't know how he wanted them sorted, so when he left to take more photos, I decided I'd make a pile of case files, from Scotland Yard, and personal case files. The ones from people who contacted him. There weren't many. I made a third pile as well. Files relating to the undead. Some were case files, others were information Sherlock himself must have collected. I hope this helped him in some way.

When he returned, he pinned up his new photos and then began to ask questions. I answered as best as I could. He didn't seem very satisfied with the answers. Poor sod found it difficult to form sentences. Here was someone who used to rattle of deductions at high speed and use as many big words as possible. I wonder if he will progress more, or evolve as John calls it. I hope he does, even if he never regains his memories. Kid deserves more than this.

"Now, I hope I did alright. These files are cases we worked on together and a few cold cases you...borrowed from Scotland Yard. These are case files from people who came to you for help. And these, these are related to, well, your kind. Do you..uh..need me to read them to you?" Fuck, because he probably can't read can he?

He nodded, though he didn't seem happy about not being able to read them himself. After reading several files out to him, we decided on a quick system, I summarised what it said, and he either pinned them on the wall or threw them on the floor. The floor ended up looking like a sea of white paper and manilla folders. More of the zombie related ones went on the wall, than any others. And he finally ran out of red ribbon. I think this upset him as he dove through every box looking for more.

"Calm down mate, I'm sure we can find you more ribbon."

"Red! Red ribbon!"

"Yes, I'll make sure it's red. Why don't you wait here and I'll tell them. Alright?" He waved a hand, a familiar dismissal gesture.

I left him, glaring at the map, muttering why, why!? I don't know why he's upset. It's just a bit of ribbon.

* * *

John looked concerned when I entered the kitchen again.

"He ok?"

"That's debatable." I shrugged, sitting down in a vacant chair.

"What's happened?" John leaned back against the fridge, his arms crossed.

"He ran out of ribbon."

"He ran out of ribbon? Why would a zombie care about ribbon?"

"Shut up, Anderson. It's important to him. He's... making some sort of map in there. The ribbon are the connections. He needs more and it has to be red. He was very adamant about that."

Mycroft immediately called over to one of the soldiers and whispered to him. He quickly left down the stairs. I hope he didn't make that man go and risk his life over some ribbon. I'm sure we can improvise with something else.

"Murphey and Thompson will head to the nearest Tescos and fetch him some ribbon, as well as other necessities as it seems we may be here for awhile." That's alright then. Bloody bastard read my mind again.

"I better tell him then. Before he makes more mess in there."

"Let me. If he's in a bad mood, it's safer to let me go in."

"Alright, be careful." John nodded with a small smile and headed towards Lock's room.


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crappy and long. But at least its... long? Sorry been really busy today. Trying to think of future plot points that aren't far into the future. Such as...
> 
> • Conversations between Lock and Tweedledee/Tweedledum
> 
> • Gladstone fucks stuff up. Again.
> 
> • Comedy! With Mycroft.
> 
> • Molly helps with things.
> 
> • EVERYONE FUCKS OFF, To Lock's great enjoyment. (wow that...sounds wrong.)
> 
> • Road trip Part 2. This time...no cars allowed.
> 
> ENJOY?

**JOHN**

He was pacing back and forth, across a paper strewn floor. Occasionally he would grab his head in a vice like grip and moan. Or he would kick something across the floor. I cautiously entered the room and turned around, to stare at the map on the wall. It wasn't very large, though I suspected, given the chance and more ribbon, it would increase in size. The bed was also covered in paper, most half torn. Lock kicked an empty box in frustration, it landed next to my foot.

"Feel better?"

"Yes." He hissed.

"Just checking."

I moved the box out of the way and watched Lock empty the contents of another. He removed a large, heavy book and threw it on the bed, along with his box of pencils, and clean white paper. He pushed them up the bed until they were against the pillows and placed the paper on the book. He fumbled with the clasp of the box for several minutes before turning to look at me with a panicked expression. I took pity on him and sat next to him on the bed and opened the box. He whispered a thanks and removed several different coloured pencils and threw them on the bed.

He began to draw, the pencil held awkwardly in his hand. It seemed to be a police badge of some sort. Except it was in pink. Well I'm not going to criticise. Lock nodded to himself and put the picture aside and began another one. It was a zombie or a corpse. Which is to say, both. The corpse was in a body bag, a bright orange orange one. The body was smiling. He draws, just a like a child. He doesn't care about the colour, and it's not realistic. But you know what its supposed to be. The third picture was of two hands holding with a smiley face above it. One hand was grey, the other pink. The face was bright yellow.

"Nice."

"Yes...thank y-you." He seemed pleased, but surprised by the compliment.

Lock pinned the picture of the badge between Lestrade's photo and the photos of Anderson and Donavan. The picture of the smiling corpse in the bright orange body bag went next to Molly. And the picture of the hands holding went... next to my photos. Oh Lock. That made my chest hurt, mate. I noticed, with a smug sense of satisfaction, that Mycroft did not get a picture. But then perhaps it was beyond Lock's skills to draw something that represented a brother.

"Tell me, about all this. I mean if you want to. It looks very interesting." His eyes smiled and he stood away from the wall and let himself drop onto the bed, making a happy sort of sound.

"It's...map. Mind map." He tapped his head. "I can't...memory."

"Go on, I get you."

"Lestrade is...was...DI." He pronounced it die. "Two...work f-for him." He gestured to Anderson and Donavan, he frowned at the photos.

"Yeah, with Scotland Yard."

"You.. know?"

"He told me once." Lock grabbed a red pencil and drew a line from Lestrade to me on the wall.

"M-Molly, she ...uh...work. Dead people. She..." Works with dead people? A mortician perhaps?

"A mortician?"

"Yes! She...exam..look, for.. poleese." Clearly we need to work on pronunciation. Lock would probably enjoy it.

"Got it, she examined the bodies for the police. Keep going."

"M-myc...Myc-roff. Sibling. Uh..." He shrugged. Well Mycroft did seem to keep a lot of things to himself.

"And me?"

"Friend." I grinned back at his almost anxious face. As if he thought I would dispute that fact.

"Very good, Lock. Look, Mycroft's send people out for supplies, they will look for more ribbon for you."

"Red! Red ribbon!"

"Yes I know, red ribbon. So why don't you just sit back and relax for a bit."

I sat down next to him on the bed. He drew his knees up until he could rest his elbows on them. His fingers were steepled in front of him. They twitched constantly.

"Hey, calm down. What's wrong?"

"You.. you w-will go."

"Go where?"

"W-with them."

"Oh mate. We talked about this. I have to go back. But I don't have to go with them."

"Can't go.. I c-can't."

"You don't have to. But if you like. You can accompany me there? I promise I'll come back and visit you."

He was about to respond when the was noise outside the room. The men had returned. Lock leaped off the bed and swung the door open. Well I tried. We will have this conversation eventually, Lock.

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

Think, think, think!

What else? What have I missed? Have I missed anything? What else can I add? Oh there must be more. I need more information. More data, more facts. Everything. I kicked something in frustration, narrowly missing John. John! When did he get here? How did I not notice?

"Feel better?" Exceedingly.

"Yes." I drew out the s, as long as I good. I was not in a good mood. I hadn't been in one since these...intruders arrived.

"Just checking." Good.

I turned away from him and paced once more. Perhaps pictures...maybe I can draw something to help me visualise this map. Where are my pencils? And I will need something long and flat to draw on. I threw out the contents of one of the boxes, finding a large, heavy book inside. Ah! This will do perfectly. I let it drop on the bed and removed the pencil box and papers from my bag. I sat on the bed and attempted to open the box. Argh. Zombie fingers. Wonderful. John? A little help?

He heard my silent plea and opened the box for me.

"Thanks..."

"Not a problem."

I began to draw. I started with Lestrade. What could I draw that would represent him? Ah! A police badge. Probably not accurate, but if I understand it that's all that matters. For Molly I drew a corpse in a body bag. It seemed only logical. I couldn't think of anything to draw for Mycroft. He didn't really deserve anything. But John. I could draw something that represented mine and John's connection to each other. I decided on two hands holding each other. One dead, one alive. Satisfied with them, I put down the pencils.

"Nice." That...was unexpected.

"Yes...thank y-you."

I pinned the pictures in the appropriate places and stepped back to admire my work.

"Tell me, about all this. I mean if you want to. It looks very interesting." It is interesting! It's supposed to be. I flopped onto the bed and decided to comply with John's questions.

Or tried to. Speaking, is very difficult. Sometimes the words come. Sometimes they do not. Other times I have to substitute the word. They don't always come out in the right order. Perhaps John will help me with this later. If he were to say the words, I could learn them by ear. If John would be interested in doing so, that is. I shall ask him later. John inquired about the meanings of all the pictures and I happily responded.

When it came to his picture I simply responded with...

"Friend." John smiled back at me, warming my dead heart.

"Very good, Lock. Look, Mycroft's send people out for supplies, they will look for more ribbon for you." Brilliant!

"Red! Red ribbon!" It's incredibly important. It must be red!

"Yes I know, red ribbon. So why don't you just sit back and relax for a bit." I shall try.

I sat back on the bed, half observing John, half thinking about my mind map. It was incomplete. So many things were missing, except I didn't know what they were. John sat down next to me, his feet tapping against the floor. He will leave. I told myself. Eventually, when the others go, he will follow. Because he wants to return home. And perhaps he should. If it makes him happy. Better he leave now, before he finds out I ate his friend.

I think John has picked up on my mood...

"Hey, calm down. What's wrong?" Everything.

"You.. you w-will go." You will leave me.

"Go where?"

"W-with them."

"Oh mate. We talked about this. I have to go back. But I don't have to go with them." But you will! I can't follow.

"Can't go.. I c-can't." It's too risky.

"You don't have to. But if you like. You can accompany me there? I promise I'll come back and visit you." Would you? Would you really do that for me?

There was a loud noise outside, a door closing with a thud and feet running up the staircase. The soldiers must have returned! Marvellous. Sorry John, we will have to postpone this discussion for another time. I bounded out the door and towards the kitchen.

* * *

The two men held several bags of supplies. They were of little interest to me. Lestrade and the others were sorting through them. I spotted a small pile of red ribbon, enough to last me a long time. I snatched it off the ground, without thanking the men and headed back to my room. John was leaving just as I arrived. He patted my shoulder and went to see what the men had stolen from Tescos. It wasn't as if they had run out of what John had taken, the last time. They're just greedy.

I slammed my door shut and went back to work.


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, just one POV today. Also any spelling or grammar mistakes made when Lock is talking...is on purpose. Its how he speaks or pronounces something, etc.
> 
> BETTER SPOILERS THAN PREVIOUS SPOILERS
> 
> • Monopoly?
> 
> • Scrabble with Lock and John.
> 
> • Everyone is kicked out of 221b.
> 
> • Movie timez?!
> 
> ENJOY
> 
> OR NOT
> 
> IM NOT YOUR MOTHER
> 
> ...
> 
> OR AM I?

**JOHN**

For the next few hours, myself and Lestrade took turns in helping, watching, stopping and entertaining Lock. For the most part, we helped with his Mind Map. He would make us fetch things from various parts of the flat and then he would either stick them to the wall or tear them in half. I tried to through the discarded paper in a bin bag but Lock would grab my hands and gently pull me outside, whisper "no" and then close the door in my face. He was more forceful with Lestrade, he didn't get a quiet no. Rather a loud one.

I had decided to keep a small journal of everything that had happened so far. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Plus, who knows? It may even be handy in learning more about Zombies like Lock? Initially, my entries were long. Until I reached my first entry for the day. Besides waking up, stitching up Lock's new wounds, introducing people and Lestrade making a breakthrough with Lock.

The rest of my entry, went something like this:

• Mycroft tried to barge into the room.

• He was thrown out of said room.

• His umbrella was confiscated.

• It was then hung from the window.

• Then later used as the finishing piece to Lock's masterpiece that was "Lets pile all the things in the room on top of each other. Yes this is a great idea, nothing can go wrong."

• Cue the whole thing falling on Lock and myself. He at least had the good manners to appear sorry.

• No, he is not doing it again.

• Lock's map is now covering two walls.

• He managed to run out of ribbon.

• We have resorted to dyeing string red.

• Lock does not approve. But too bad.

The next section was scribbled out in red pencil. Even though Lock can't read. He rightly suspects it is about him. This project of his has him on edge. New and old emotions are present. Excitement, which may or may not be new to him, anxiousness, a feeling of desperation. He MUST continue the map. He is compelled to do so and doesn't know why. At least it keeps him occupied. For the most part. When we weren't in his room, myself and Greg would sit at the kitchen table drinking tea while Mycroft did...who knows and Anderson and Donavan rediscovered a pack of cards.

I learn a lot about Greg's former life, though he dodges around the issue of Sherlock. I don't mind. I learn more about him if I want to. For the time being, I didn't mind learning more about Lestrade's life before the zombie apocalypse. I even shared a few stories of my own. Its a different sort of friendship, I think. Its certainly more adult. Unfortunately our discussion didn't last long. Lock stormed into the room, grabbed me by the arm and pulled me towards his bedroom.

"Hey! Easy, no need to be rough." He let go immediately and looked concerned.

"S-sorry."

"It's fine mate." I closed the door behind us.

"...wow...thats..something you go there, Lock."

A switch was flipped in his head and he leaped, or tried to, onto the bed and began to gesture wildly at his maps, his broken sentences behind rattled off at high speed. It was impossible to understand him. Poor bloke. We need to work on your speech mate. We've passed the limit of words you can say in one go. Now its speed, right order and correct words.

"Lock?"

"...yes?"

"Slow down."

"Oh...I..I..I.."

"Not that slow. I'd say deep breath but that would be rubbing it in. Start from the start."

"Ok...uh...new m-map, old map."

"Got it." He began his gesturing again, which made sense to him but not me.

"Old map, peepal now, f-from...life and...d-death."

"People from before and after you died, got it."

"New map. P-places. This..this here." He pointed the a large red pin. I was impressed, he can't read the words on the map. But he knows this is the correct location.

So.. the old map is people and the new map is places? Interesting.

"Nice."

"Nice?"

"Yes its very...nice." Not really sure where you're going with all this, Lock.

"Nice..."

"Ok, its great. It's...over my head Lock. I don't understand why you're doing all this." He frowned. Great, I've upset him.

"BEC-CAUSE!"

"Ok..calm down mate. We don't want a repeat of where you want to stick Mycroft's umbrella."

"FFFF-.."

"Profanity isn't necessary."

"BEC-CAUSE I CAN'T MEMORY! INEEDMEMORY."

"I know you do, but how is this going to help? You've been at this all day. What are you trying to accomplish?" Why do you need to remember?

"I need...know more. Is this...all?"

"All what?" He gestured to himself. Oh mate.

"I want..like you."

"I know mate. But I thought you were happy as you were."

"YES! B-but...frustate -iiiing."

"I understand. I think you will keep getting better, Lock. But it can't happen overnight."

"Oh really."

"Ok, yes you've progressed a lot in a short space of time. But it's slowed down hasn't it. Give things time. Take a break. Come on, we will...play a game or I could teach you to read or..anything, but whats in this room right now."

I waited for his brain to process what I'd said. I expected him to dismiss it, but to my surprise he nodded and slowly climbed off the bed and followed me out of the room.

That was almost too easy.

He must be up to something.


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realise some of you have already replied on chapter 40 the authors note, so it probably won't let you this time so feel free to either PM me, review on a previous chapter you haven't (just say it's for chapter 40) or it's also on AO3 so... yeah..
> 
> Remember when I asked you about those games. You all had such great answers I couldn't choose just one...so...I kinda...chose them all..
> 
> Enjoy.
> 
> Sorry if spelling mistakes .

**JOHN**

It wasn't hard to find something to play. Lock was after all a hoarder. We found several board games that were intact and a few that weren't. Like the Cluedo board, missing everything but itself. Most of the Jenga blocks were missing. There was a Yahtzee box but it was filled with marbles that Lock gleefully rolled along the ground towards Mycroft. I don't think he was trying to trip him up...rather stop his annoying commentaries. There was also a monopoly board but it was too high up for any of us to get. What we did found, however, was a Chess set, Snakes and Ladders, Checkers, Pictionary, Scrabble and Mastermind. Chess, Pictionary, Scrabble and Mastermind were deemed too complicated and put to the side.

We started with Snakes and Ladders. The dice frustrated him at first. He knew the numbers but didn't realise what the dots on the dice actually meant. However once he understood the problem went away. The game went quite well at first. Except...he landed on rather a large number of snakes. And threaten to throw the board out the window...

"Lock..it's just a game. Ok?"

"N-not..fair!" I know mate. Sorry not sorry.

"I know, but thats how games work. There are winners and losers." Bit like life. Actually a lot like life.

"...No.."

I ended up winning the game. Lock didn't seem upset. But disappointed. Though he did try and suggest a game that involved actual snakes and real ladders...Then he threw the dice at the wall, which bounded off, hit Lestrade in the knee and rolled under the sofa. That was the end of Snakes and Ladders. He didn't fancy another go. Can't blame him, he had no luck this time and had been in a bad mood before he even started.

* * *

Lestrade suggested Checkers.

So I made him play it with my zombie friend, I needed a break. Greg pulled himself to the ground opposite Lock, resting his back against the sofa. He explained the rules of the game and how one moved. He had to do this more than once. But like before, he picked it up quickly. In no time he was beating Lestrade with a smug look on his face (Still no smile). They played several games. Lestrade won a few, but Lock was the overall winner. I could tell his mood had changed, a little lighter, a little happier. Following the success of Checkers, Mycroft, who had been watching with interest, suggested Chess.

Lock was one hundred percent against this idea. Not against the game mind you. But against playing anything with Mycroft. Eventually he gave in, after his brother had set up the board and little glass figures. And after he'd explained how each piece moved. Lock's curiosity got the better of him and soon he was sitting in front of the board, intense concentration written all over his face. Rather than play to win, Mycroft seemed to be teaching him the basics, moving onto more complicated moves as Lock's understanding of the game grew. Once he was satisfied he'd learnt enough, they played a proper game of chess.

Lock won.

Mycroft wasn't amused... for about five minutes. But then while Lock was excitedly telling me he won, which I knew I was watching but I let him have his moment, I saw Mycroft smile to himself. Pure happiness, for a brief second and then it was hidden. Say what he liked about Lock, he truly did care and miss his brother. And I suspect, as all that was left of him was Lock, that he would do everything in his power to either win him over or protect him. He definitely enjoyed teaching him.

They played two more games. Mycroft won both times so Lock declared the game over. He was getting more and more confident around the others. I was very proud of him.

* * *

During these games, the rest of us would chat in the kitchen, drinking our tea, playing cards, having a few snacks. It was a relaxing atmosphere. I learnt more about Molly and even Sally and Anderson. Sorry...Marion. Can't get over that name mate, apologies. They weren't bad people, just blinded by their previous associations with Sherlock. But as they watched Lock play, a zombie clearly enjoying himself most of the time, I got sense their views were changing. It would take time though. Lock's enjoyment was expressed through body language and his eyes. I feel like only an overt display would convince them that he was different from their Sherlock.

As the day went on and night began to fall, a break was taken from the games after a failed session of Scrabble. Clearly to difficult for Lock at the moment. Which upset him. He's not stupid, but he's very aware that a simple thing like reading or writing, or spelling, is beyond his mind. At least for now. So while the other's packed into the kitchen to make their dinners, I sat down beside him. He was curled into a ball in the corner of the living room, hidden by a sofa, a lamp and a pile of papers. He looked up at me and then looked away. Like he was ashamed of himself.

"Hey, it's alright. Plenty of people don't know how to read." Well this was true once upon a time, there might be less people now, but I'm sure it's still correct.

He shook his head. He tries so hard and expects everything to work for him now, because he's progressed so far. But it doesn't work like that. Reading and writing is something you have to learn. And if it's been wiped from his brain, its going to be harder than learning to speak. Which he was already able to do when we met.

"Don't be so hard on yourself. Why don't we try another game later, one that doesn't involve reading." His head rose, his eyes curious, but it was clear he was unsure.

"Come on, you'll like it I promise. We'll play later tonight."

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

I wasn't in the mood for games. But after John had described them to me, my curiosity was peaked. It seemed I collected quite a lot of them so there was plenty to chose from. We started with one called..Snakes and Ladders. I didn't like it. John kept winning and I kept landing on the snakes, which was apparently bad. John kept getting ladders. It wasn't fair. The game must have been rigged. Only possible solution. John wouldn't let me dispose of the game so I let him know the game was over, by throwing away the dice. I didn't expect it to bounce off the wall and Lestrade but I was pleased nonetheless that it slid another the sofa.

I thought that would be the end of games.

Lestrade had other ideas.

He insisted I try Checkers. A black and white board with black and white discs. Seemed easy enough. And it was. Soon I was beating him! And then he didn't want to play anymore. No, it's no fun when it's the same person winning all the time is it? Except for the winner, it's very enjoyable for them. I put the checker board away, with my winning pieces still on the top. I set it on the desk for everyone to see. Then sat back down on the carpet and wondered if now the games would end and I could return to my room and my maps.

But no.

Mycroft wanted to play something called Chess.

* * *

NO.

I shall not play anything with that man. Absolutely not. Out of the question. Impossible. Nothing anyone can say and do will change my mind.

...Except it did look interesting...and sounded fascinating...

No. I shan't.

...Well...maybe once. Just one game. Or until I get the hang of it. But that was it. No more!

* * *

Mycroft wasn't that bad...a player I mean. He wasn't that bad a player. He's still horrible. But he did teach me tricks and moves for this Chess and how each piece moved. When he was happy with my progress we played a proper game. It took about an hour. And.. I WON. I BEAT HIM! HA! TAKE THAT! And other exclamations! His face was priceless. He clearly didn't expect me to win and I could tell he wasn't even holding back. But I learn quickly so the joke was on him. I won and he lost! I had to tell John immediately.

He was very happy for me, so was Lestrade and the Molly girl. If I could cheer out loud I would have. I see nothing wrong in gloating when my opponent is him. If I could gloat. I will gloat inside. Well I probably already am. John told me to keep playing and I did. But he beat me the next two time. The fat git. That was it, no more chess.

Maybe later.

Maybe John will play it with me...or Lestrade..

I hope so.

* * *

Molly tried to teach me scrabble with the help of Lestrade but it was a complete and utter failure. I couldn't read. Surely they knew that. I felt like an idiot in front of them. Basic words I knew and I couldn't spell them or read theirs. I left the board and retreated to a corner of the room to wallow in self pity. As I thought, John followed and sat by me. I wish he hadn't. I don't want his pity tonight.

"Hey, it's alright. Plenty of people don't know how to read." Easy for you to say.

"Don't be so hard on yourself. Why don't we try another game later, one that doesn't involve reading." ...but haven't we played all the games? Are they any more left?

"Come on, you'll like it I promise. We'll play later tonight."

...well...maybe much later tonight. I don't feel like it right now. This has been exhausting and my head...it's very heavy. Thats the closest it gets to hurting I suppose.

"...Maybe.."


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't already go check Chapter 40 again. Its an actual chapter now with words and story and things!
> 
> Idk how you can review it if you have already reviewed on it. But you could review both chapters here! Or in pm or AO3 or.. not at all...
> 
> Few possible future plot points.
> 
> • Pictionary
> 
> • Decorating John
> 
> • I brought you socks.
> 
> • Colourful socks, John
> 
> • Moran is a sneaky bastard.
> 
> • And maybe later....CHARADES!
> 
> enjOY!

* * *

 

**LESTRADE**

The games night was fun while it lasted, but with Lock now curled up in a corner feeling sorry for himself, it was clear games night was over. For now. John took me aside and whispered in my ear. We might play another later, or even tomorrow. Poor bloke, Lock was beating himself up because he couldn't do something the rest of us can do. When he can do things no other zombie can do. He was mumbling the words 'stupid' to himself. Which is about far from the truth as possible. Ok so right now he's not as smart as he was, but look at how quickly he learnt to play those games!

Look at what he can do already, it's amazing.

I shivered as the fire flicked, wish we had more firewood. Some of the soldiers had gone out to look for more earlier, but it was risky. We couldn't let the other zombies know where we were. I doubt they'd be as welcoming as Lock. John got up from his spot on the floor by Lock and threw another chair on the fire. Lock disappeared into the bathroom. His comfort zone I think. John shrugged, I shrugged and Mycroft hmphed. Molly made us all more tea. I'm going to swim away on a sea of tea, I've had so much. But I don't trust water that hasn't been boiled so what are you gonna do?

"He'll be alright."

"Huh?" John, you look a bit tired.

"Lock, he'll be alright John."

"I know...I know that. He's just being..."

"Stubborn? Pigheaded? Look he's frustrated, thats easy to understand. Just wish he knew that learning stuff like this, it's not easy. It make take him months to learn how to read and write. He expects it to happen like that." I tried to snap my fingers.

It's important to know that I  _tried._

"Try telling him that, he won't hear it from me."

"He just expects too much, doesn't he?" Molly chimed in, making both of us jump.

"That sounds about right."

"I'm sure he'll realise it soon. By the way, what game were you thinking about playing with him later, John?"

"Hmm? Oh, Pictionary. It was that or Charades and I dread to imagine what that would be like."

A zombie playing Charades? I'd pay to see that.

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

This is ridiculous. I must return to my maps. The games were enjoyable, yes. But obviously a waste of time. I'm not sure what I would be working on now, but definitely I would not be curled up in my bathtub moping. But here we are...And here is boring. And wet...there better not be a leak in my ceiling. There was a leak in one of the houses I went into a few months back. Then the whole ceiling caved in...I am positive it wasn't my fault.

I was just curious.

I moved onto my back. What happened to Grimm? He must be around here somewhere. I turned over, spotting the remains of John's "bed". It didn't look comfortable for a human. They needed soft things...fluffy pillows and what not. There was a spare mattress in the flat downstairs. It was under the woman's bed. It wasn't very big, but then neither was John. Could I make it down there without them noticing? Probably not. Unless I'm fast..

I opened my door quietly. I could hear them chatting in the lounge room. Good. If I was careful, I might be able to go through the kitchen's side door. I ran down the stairs, two at a time. The woman's flat was just as I left it. It never changed, just gathered more dust. But that was fine. I like dust.

Getting the mattress out was harder than I thought. I fell several times before finally getting it out and removed it from it's protective plastic. I left on the floor and searched every cupboard from extra sheets or blankets are found a few. Most were white with flowers, and a hideous red and blue knitted blanket. But they served the same purpose. I threw the blanket over my head and lifted the mattress, and a proper pillow, out of the room, out of the flat and up the stairs. That was the hardest part. The soldier on guard by the door gave me the strangest look. But didn't help me.

 _Rude_.

It was harder to not alert people to my presences this time around. I heard someone say my name but I told them to shut up. It was probably John. Sorry John, not now. I locked the bathroom door. Proud of myself for being able to do that with zombie's fingers. I threw the mattress on the floor and piled the sheets, blankets and sleeping bag on top of it. John would have to make the bed, I have no idea how to do that. I only know what it looks like when it's been made already. He should be more comfortable now. I know his shoulder and leg seem to hurt him somehow. He limps, or flinches and groans when he sleeps.

Theres someone pounding at the door. I opened it slowly.  _Please not Mycroft, please not Mycroft._ Ah! John. What a suprise.

"Lock, what were you doing?" I opened the door fully for him to see.

"Oh...Lock. Lock, thank you! That's brilliant. It looks so comfy. Really mate, thanks. Where did you even get the spare mattress?" His face was shining. Suddenly it was all worth it.

"Downstairs...l-lady had spare." It wasn't like she needed it. John shook his head, smiling and wrapped his arm around my shoulder.

"Come on, back out here. I have a new game for you to try."

"John...maps...have to.."

"Later. Come on. All work and no play makes Lock a dull boy."

"That... no sense, John."

He just laughed.

That's not an answer.

I'm not dull.


	42. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PICTIONARY CHAPTER!
> 
> SCREW YOU SPELLING, PICTIONARY IS TOTALLY A WORD.
> 
> ENJOY
> 
> (after this Lock goes "shopping again for John")
> 
> (It's cute, I hope)
> 
> (i might try and write 43 before i go to bed. damn daylight savings)

**JOHN**

"It's called Pictionary"

"Pick...shun..Again."

"What?"

"Say...again."

"Oh! Piction-ary."

"Pick...shun...ary. Pickshunary."

I smiled at his attempt and gestured for him to side beside me. Eventually the other members of our merry crew joined us. Plus one of the soldiers. It was late into the night but I suppose there was little to do until we all dropped off to sleep. Well, all of us but Lock. We divided into groups of four. Myself, Lock, Lestrade and Molly on one team and Sally, Anderson, Mycroft and our lonely soldier on the other. I opened the box and shared out its contents and unfolded the board.

I explained to Lock the rules of the game. More than once. Not that it's his fault. He didn't say anything but he seemed curious enough, so hopefully his attention span will last. The only issue I see with the game is that Lock won't be able to read the words on the card. Another soldier offered to act as a reader for Lock, I dared people to take issue with it. That soldier, Oliver sat on the sofa behind us and sipped a tea while he waited to help. The other soldier, Jude, offered me the dice after rolling it for his team.

"Do you want to roll it, Lock?" He nodded and took the dice from my hand, throwing it at the board.

A 5.

Jude had rolled a 3.

Brilliant.

"First?" He seemed almost happy.

"Yep. We're first." The starting square was P. So a person, animal or a place. Should be pretty easy.

I got a badger.

"CAT!" Ok, so maybe my drawing skills aren't very good.

"No, it's not a cat Lock, look at it!" Thanks, Greg.

"Oh! Oh! I know!"

"Tell!"

"It's a badger, isn't it?"

"YES!"

Lock was already invested in this game. I could tell. This is going to be interesting.

* * *

"LOUD! LOUD!"

"How the hell did you get that?"

"Obvious...?"

* * *

"That's the weirdest looking horse I've ever seen."

"Shut up Anderson."

You aren't on our team...

* * *

"Oh, thats running isn't it?"

"Final...fine-a-lee."

"Lock..."

"What?"

Oh don't try that look on me.

* * *

"Chair?"

"Oh...sofa, mate!"

"It's not?"

"Cow-ch?"

"Come on you guys! Times almost up!"

"Oh! Oh!...It's one of those fancy lounge chairs...um.. a chaise!"

"Yes!"

Cue the high fives.

"Why...hit my hand?"

"Don't worry yourself about it mate."

"Not..rowy...w-worry."

"Good."

* * *

He was drawing a circle with a slightly longer but flatter oval underneath it. Then added a triangle on the side of the circle. Then a dot and a curved flick near the triangle. It looked like...like a very happy duck. With muscular feet. Kind of adorable really. He has trouble holding the pencil. holding it with his fist rather than his fingers. He probably doesn't have the dexterity to do so. I hear Molly's gasp of realisation as Lock draws waves underneath the duck, with...little fish...grumpy fish. That one looks like Mycroft...

"Duck swimming!" Lock rolls his eyes but nodded, the corners of his lips twitching.

"Yes, M-mmolly."

"Why is that fish so fat and angry?" Greg points to one as the other team takes it's turn.

Lock leans over and whispers something in Lestrade's ear that makes him chuckle. I suspect my earlier assumption was correct. Oh, Lock.

Jude lands on an All Play simple and Molly takes her turn as both teams now try and figure out the drawing.

"Oh! Oh! It's um...that place in Russia...Moscow!"

It didn't take us long. Lucky for us, Molly is an amazing artist.

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

"It's called Pictionary" Pict...what? That's not a name. You made that up.

"Pick...shun..Again." Damn tongue. Please repeat.

"What?"

"Say...again." You heard me.

"Oh! Piction-ary."

"Pick...shun...ary. Pickshunary." ... Close enough.

I pick up the cover while John sets out the pieces and engages in conversation. How nauseating. Are these the letters, the symbols that make up the word Pictionary? What else would they be. Only an idiot would put the wrong word on the cover of a game. I put the lid down when John tries to get my attention by snapping his fingers in front of my nose. I must learn how to do that. As John explained the rules I saw a flaw in his plans. I can not read.

Until a soldier, Olly or something, said he would whisper the word in my ear whenever it was my turn. I suppose these people do have their uses. When I was offered it, I took the dice and rolled it. The little dots indicated a five. That was more than the other team had rolled. So, we go first?

John was the first to pick up a card. But I couldn't figure out what he was drawing. A cat? That is a very ugly cat. Worse than Gladstone. I suppose I say what I think out loud?

"CAT!" No..his face is frowning.

"No, it's not a cat Lock, look at it!" I am looking! If you know what it is, then say it! Aha...see, you are no better.

"Oh! Oh! I know!"

"Tell!" Spit it out, Molly.

"It's a badger, isn't it?" A what?

"YES!" Well whatever it is, she got it.

This is interesting. I bet our team can beat theirs. Even with Mycroft on the opposing team.

The Game...is on.

* * *

Molly has good drawing skills.

Lestrade is competitive.

John is enjoying himself immensely.

And I am learning something. Not sure what yet, but I know that feeling.

* * *

How can they not see the word is, Loud! Look, there are lines coming out of the speaker.

Oh look, are they so vacant? I better speak up.

"LOUD! LOUD!"

"How the hell did you get that?" Use your eyes, Lestrade!

"Obvious...?"

* * *

"That's the weirdest looking horse I've ever seen."

I beg your pardon? You draw it if you're such an expert. You aren't even half as good as John, Marion.

"Shut up Anderson." Thank you, Lestrade.

He isn't even on our team.

* * *

"Oh, thats running isn't it?" Obviously.

"Final...fine-a-lee." Finally.

"Lock..."

"What?" Look innocent, look innocent.

What does that look like again?

* * *

Eventually...we won. Take that you incompetent...people.

I must work on my insults.

Lestrade was patting us all on the back, I don't know why. John was pretending to cheer and Molly was just smiling. Both tried to give me more "high fives". I don't understand the significance. Then John declared that the losers would have to make all the meals the next day and make the three living members of our team tea and something sweet for dessert now. So...I get nothing for winning. Sounds right.

"That was great! Don't you think, Lock?"

Yes..yes..good."

"What's wrong?"

"No-thing."

"Lock.."

"..I get...no-thing." I wasn't evading the question...much.

"Oh! Sorry...I don't know what we can offer you." I do...

"Make...make them..wear silly." No, silly hats.

"Silly clothes or something?" I wish I could smile.

"Yes." But I think he could see the look in my eyes.

"Well I don't know what we can find, but we will look around.

* * *

I now have photos of Sally, Mycroft, Anderson and Lt Jude in silly hats with large badges that John says say LOSER.

I shall put them on my map, but John suggests making an album for any photos or things not map related. Not sure what he means but I will find out.

I snap one of him as he laughs and sips his tea with Lestrade.

He's very happy at the moment.

I hope it lasts.


	43. Chapter 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> APOLOGIES FOR ANY SPELLING ERRORS OR TYPOS.
> 
> Will elaborate more on these ideas in the next chapter. Feel free to suggest sock combos for John. 
> 
> ENJOY IF THAT IS YOUR WISH.

**MOLLY**

It was shame for the game to be over, but in a way I was glad. I was so tired! I apologised to the others and left for bed. I knew Sally wouldn't join me for at least another hour, I hope she doesn't make too much noise. Unlike the night before when she tripped over a box of toys. I didn't know she knew so many swear words. But it was sort of funny. She'd been a bit of a bitch lately.

The bed looked warm and inviting and I slipped off my clothes and into the pyjamas, I'd brought with me. After brushing my teeth and grabbing the book I'd been reading off the bedside table, I crawled into bed. It was now I notice the furry body beside me. A tabby cat watched me with concerned eyes.

"I hope you don't snore." The cat sniffed at the idea and put his head back down.

"Good night then."

"Mrt."

* * *

**LESTRADE**

With the game all said and done, the rest of us had one last cup of tea before turning in. I sat with John, removing my boots and bemoaning my horrible socks. John chuckled and revealed his own. Stains from burst blisters dotted his, the heel was missing in one and the toes in the other. Poor bloke. At least mine should last a little while longer. But John mate. You need a new pair, pronto.

Lock crawled across the floor to where we were sitting and stared at John's toes. I don't know why he found them fascinating. Perhaps he was just bored. He was certainly bored afterwards. The conversations went from socks, to old jobs. In John's case this was as an army doctor. Jude asked if he was decorated. Apparently he was but everything was back in his chest, in the compound. Shame to have left one war and land in another. But he didn't seem to mind all that much.

"It's never boring."

"No, thats true."

"You heading off to bed?" John yawned, stretching his arms out and wincing as one cracked.

"Yeah, well chair really, not bed. Might kip on the floor tonight though."

"Haha, good idea. I have a new bed to sleep in myself tonight." Oh...so thats what Lock was up to.

"Oh so thats what Lock was up to earlier?" Lucky bastard.

"Apparently so. Looking forward to a good nights sleep."

"Well I hope you get it. Better get ready myself."

John stood and placed his cup by the sink. I heard him wince, poor bloke had stubbed his toe. Lock was at his side immediately, like a mother hen.

"You alright? You alright?"

"I'm fine, Lock. Just stubbed my toe."

"What?!"

"It's not serious, stop worrying." Don't, Lock. It reminds me of the Sherlock who risked everything to save colleagues and his landlady.

"Night Greg."

"Night."

* * *

**JOHN**

"You sure?"

"Yes, Lock. It just hurts a little thats all."

I winced as I leaned down to make the 'bed.' Lock hovered and watched me, trying to help every so often. His help wasn't really welcome. Boy, I couldn't want to climb into this 'bed' and wrap the blankets and sheets around me. Lay my head on a proper pillow. Lock climbed into the tub, watching me intently. I tried to pull the remnants of my sock over the injured digit. I really wished I'd backed better before I left the compound, but I hadn't been planning to stay so long.

"Holes..."

"Mmm? Oh the socks, yes they do. Need to get new ones." I wiggled my toes at him and he wrinkled his nose back at me.

"Sleep..now?"

"Yeah, really looking forward to it thanks to you." His eyes brightened at that and I chuckled.

I shed my shirt and pants and replaced them with pyjamas and slid into my new bed. Oh...that was warm. Very warm. And the mattress was so comfortable. The pillow...so..so...soft. I think I'm going to...night Lock.

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

"John?" I think he's asleep.

That was faster than usual. The bed must have helped. Good. Now I will...hmm. What will I do tonight? I could stay here, but it would probably be considered creepy to watch people sleep. Maybe I could draw on Mycroft's face. Would that be frowned upon? Or..I could go out? Oh! I could get John some new socks! There would be some at the Tescos surely. I could leave them on his bed as a surprise when he wakes up. Yes, this is a brilliant plan.

I tiptoed out of the bathroom and into the kitchen. Sally, the grumpy one, was washing a cup and bowl. She eyed me with suspicion. She always does. I don't like it. It's mean and it's rude. She judges me, I can see it in everything she does. Why can't she forget the past? Was I that horrible?

"Where do you think you're going?" I know where I'm going, why should I have to think about it?

"Out." It's none of your business really.

"Why? Going to rat on us to your zombie friends?" What? Why would I do that?

"..Don't...have any. Just John." Well...theres A. But is that really friendship? I suppose it might be...Sorry A.

I must have said something wrong. Her face has dropped and she looks surprised. And then sorry.

"You really care for him, don't you? You're so different..."

"Yes...bye." She was making me uncomfortable. Too much staring.

"Bye...Lock." Thats the first time I think she has called me by my name.

* * *

The Tescos did have a lot of socks. Some were missing their twin but that didn't really matter. I think I would be more interesting to wear two different socks. Two the same is boring. I took several pairs of socks and a few single ones and pushed them into my pocket. I made sure to choose the brightest, most colourful and patterned socks I could find. I was about to leave when I remembered that Lestrade has also expressed interest in new socks. So I grabbed a black and grey pair from the rack and put them in my other pocket. I couldn't be expected to know his taste in things. I didn't know John's...but I'm sure these will be fine.

I turned to leave and...stared into the wild, predatory eyes of a bonie. I was frozen stiff. Well, I am a stiff. But this was fear. Pure terror. It stared without blinking and sniffed my entire body. Then it screamed. Intimidation. I didn't move or make a sound. It sniffed me again and then left. It knows I'm different...but it still can't eat me. Bonies rarely eat my kind. Living flesh is better than the flesh of the dead. I should be careful. They might follow me and there is a herd of humans living in my flat.

I need to get home right now.

I used the back alley ways and streets this time. To try and throw them off the scent. But they have better noses than I. I don't think they would enter my flat though. If they can't smell the humans yet, then they are safe for a few more days. I hid behind a wheelie bin while a pack screeched past. Was I shaking? Or just unsteady? Not frightened. I'm not frightened. As I stood I noticed the distinct smell of smoke. Tobacco ash. 243.

What? 243 what?

No...243 types of tobacco ash.

Where did that come from? No, no time to think about that now, have to run.

But out of the corner of my eye I spot a figure against the wall in the dimly lit street. A puff of light near his mouth. Human, had to be. Who was he? How had the bonies or zombies not found him? It's no concern of mine though. I ignored him and rounded the corner back to the flat.

* * *

I warned the guard on duty and headed into the living room. Everyone was asleep. Lestrade was on the floor in a sleeping bag, his mouth wide open. A few soldier were sleeping near him. Another was reading a book in one of the chairs. Mycroft was again on the sofa, his pyjamas...I didn't realise he had any before. Brightly red with a symbol embroidered on the pocket. Even his pyjamas look arrogant and pompous. Sally must have gone up to bed. Good. I don't want more questions.

I headed into the bathroom and locked the door for extra safety. I remove the socks from my pocket and place them at his feet. Two red pairs with spiked creatures, a bright green checkered sock, an orange one with suns, a pair of blue ones with diamonds, a single camouflage patterned sock and a black and white pair with card symbols. I think I chose rather well.

I climbed back into the tub, this time with John's coat. He said he was decorated. I don't know what that means. But it has to do with the army and war. In my books, I think they have medals and badges on their clothes. Because they did something important. Or were a hero. Is John a hero? Did he get medals because he was a doctor in combat? I should decorate this for him, so everyone knows. I don't have any medals though.

But I do have badges. I remove a little box I kept in one of the drawers under the sink. Its only made of cardboard but inside are dozens of little badges in plastic and metal. I chose five. All are edged in gold. A red cross, a green four leafed clover, a blue circle with faded writing and a purple heart. There was also a large pair of gold wings. It was hard and I stabbed my fingers several times. But eventually I managed to attach all five of them to his coat. I folded it and put it back with his clothes.

I lay back down in the tub and thought about the bonies for the rest of the night.

They are going to have to leave...aren't they?


	44. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and crappy this time. Short interlude with Our Favourite criminals.
> 
> ENJOY

**MORAN**

It's becoming more aware. Even the bonies can sense it. They confronted it, intimidated it. Perhaps it smells different now, who knows. It's easier to think of him as an It. Can't get attached, not the way Jim runs through his pets. Maybe he will keep this one a little longer this time. It's different.

It crossed my path with it's small plastic Tescos bag. A zombie that shops, thats definitely new. Unfortunately, if I am correct on it's destination, it may be some time until I can catch it. I saw soldiers a few days ago, guarding a house. And theres very few houses left in this area that still have electricity. I think it's 'home' is located in Baker Street. I will have to wait until the soldiers leave. But that could be a few days, or a week. I don't have that much time.

* * *

My phone pings. Great, Jim wants to chat. Really not the time, but who am I to ignore the Boss?

**Hello? Tell me this is important. You do realise I am in the middle of a warzone here. SM**

**Of course! I only wanted to ask how you are getting on! Did you find it? JM**

**Yes, but I'm not the only one, it may be difficult to capture it. SM**

**Well, do the best you can, you don't want to disappoint me, do you my dear? JM**

**You know I never do. Don't you have experiments to run? SM**

**Yes and no. 0137 had to be put down, it was causing too much trouble. 0145 tried to escape, so I had to defend myself. JM**

**You won't have any left for this army of yours if you keep killing them, Jim. SM**

**Don't tell me you care for the creatures? They don't feel anything Sebby darling. Their minds are just too simple, they don't have the brainpower to be useful to me. Thats why we need this one. It might be the missing link. JM**

**I'll do the best I can but I can't promise anything. SM**

**That's all I ask, for now. You have all the other nessecery equipment with you, now? JM**

**Yes, I accessed cache 12, it needs to be replensihed soon. Gotta go now Jim, bonies. SM**

**Do be careful! And see you soon. Kisses! XX JM**

God, he's bored if he's messaging me at this time of the night. I hate it when he gets bored, it's frightening. He killed half the stock once out of boredom. I had to spend the next two weeks collecting. I wish he'd get off his ass and help. Instead he just sits there saying he doesn't want to get his hands dirty, then turns around and cuts open the undead. And their eyes just watch him. Sometimes I think I see fear, but that's impossible. They're just animals, they don't feel, they don't think. Thats why the Device never works. Not enough brainpower. If it did work, he'd probably stop shooting them in the head.

Great, now there really are bonies.

And I'm without a safe house...

* * *

**MORIARTY**

**Do be careful! And see you soon. Kisses! XX JM**

He's a dear but so dreadfully dull sometimes, when he's working. He's much more fun at home. Except when he chastises me for killing the stock. I'm only culling the undesirables. I'm sure if they were aware and sentient, they'd welcome a bullet to the brain. But they are all useless. The Device killed some outright, and now, it does nothing. They're too stupid. Nothing but air upstairs. If even that.

But thats why this zombie Seb found might be perfect! If I can figure out how it works, maybe I can induce a change in others and the device might just have the brain power it needs to work! And then I can begin my plans. And if it doesn't provide me with the information I need, I may just keep it as a pet. It seems rather docile. I haven't had a pet in a long time. The last one ate Charles. It was far too violent and straying into Bonie territory. They all do eventually. Some sooner than others.

I only have fifty at the moment in the underground basement. I can hold more, the basement is quite extensive with several levels. But the undead rarely venture out from the city, stupid things, at least there are animals out here. Perfect for dinner. Perfect bait sometimes as well.

* * *

I wish people strayed out this far, it's only me and Seb, thats why I have so few zombies. But I hear a convoy from a smaller compound outside of London is due to pass this way soon, perhaps I can entice them... I still have many contacts in the criminal underworld, who would be all too happy for a job...


	45. Chapter 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey! Another chapter! Finally moving things along.
> 
> Future plot points that are possible
> 
> • More of Moran
> 
> • John and Lock alone in the city
> 
> • FIGHT
> 
> • Alone
> 
> • I'll never speak again
> 
> • Capture
> 
> ENJOY!

**SHERLOCK**

I am the first in the kitchen this time. I would make tea but I don't know how. John hits the switch on the kettle...and puts bags in cups. But that can't be it. Some of the white cubes, others say they have milk, but there isn't any. So they make interesting faces while drinking the tea. Does the milk make it taste different? I suppose its not really important.

I have to sit here until they all wake up and explain about the bonies. I also throw Lestrade's boring socks in his direction, they land on his face. I feel I have accomplished something there. I sit on the table and shield my eyes when the sun shines through the windows. Its so bright, I hate it. I would go over and close the curtains but I am afraid I might step on someone, and they all carry weapons. Except Mycroft, but he does have an umbrella. It probably wouldn't do any damage though. Does he feel weapons are beneath him?

One of them is snoring. I think it's Anderson. It's a horrible noise. Like an animal growling. A sick animal. I wish he would stop. The door to the bathroom opens and John walks out wearing the red socks with the spiked creatures, and his newly decorated jacket over his pyjamas. He looks tired and gives me a wave before stumbling over to the kitchen bench on turning on the kettle. It's the first thing he does every morning. I don't think he can function without it. Is this a living thing? Or just John. He seems to run purely on jam and tea. He blinks at me, his eyes are barely open. When the kettle starts to scream he pours the water into a cup with a bag and leans over it. He sighs when he smells the tea.

"Morning Lock." He rasps, taking the first sip of his tea.

"Yes." I mean it is morning and good morning to you. But my mind was preoccupied.

"Uh...thanks for the socks. They're very...interesting." Does he not like them? Did I choose incorrectly? Or does he truly think they are interesting.

"Welcome.." I look down at his toes, no holes in these ones. But I swear John's toes fidgeting. Mine can't do that. I try just to be sure. Nope nothing.

"Lock?" Oh.. he caught me staring at my feet. How embarrassing.

"John." He smiled.

"Is that tea?" Lestrade is awake. The socks are still on his head and he removes them with a confused look. Then he looks at John, me, and then back at the socks. "Where did these come from?"

"Same as mine I suppose." John turns to me and I pretend to look elsewhere.

"Those are some socks, John."

"Hey! There's nothing wrong with them, they're very warm." Is there something wrong with the socks I chose?

"Whatever you say. Now, any of that tea left?"

* * *

The next person to wake is Mycroft who wipes the sleep out of his eyes and pulls a dressing gown over his pyjamas. I don't think people are allowed to see them. It's probably against the law. Wait...why did I think that? Never mind. Probably not important. But it might be important. No, it's just pyjamas.

I need to stop arguing with myself, it's very annoying.

Mycroft also requests tea so I ignore him and turn my attention to the only other sleeping body on the floor, Anderson. I pick up a black marker in one hand and try to twirl it in my fingers. I could draw on his face. The pen flys out of my hand and lands in Mycroft's tea. Not what I wanted but it will do. He gives me such a disapproving look. I bare my teeth and he sighs and walks off. John tsks and suddenly I feel ashamed. Why can't I make fun of Mycroft?

"Lock, you have to stop this." John sits at the table, so I turn around on the spot and rest my elbows on the table.

"Why?" Stop what? I have no idea what you're talking about.

"Trying to make him angry. You need him to agree with you. So that he won't force you to go with him. Stop trying to push him away." But it's so easy, John. I can't help myself.

"But.."

"No buts, Lock." You're no fun.

"Did n-not meanthrowpen." No, that needed more pauses. But John always understands.

"Then why...it was an accident wasn't it? Just be more careful next time."

"Fine."

"Good."

* * *

When nearly everyone was finally awake and mostly dressed I began to pace up and down the table. I think it worried John, because he would grab the table whenever I reached one end, like he was afraid it would tip over. That would have been interesting. I could tell them now of course but they were having a conversation. Molly and Sally were still upstairs. If they did not come down soon I would be forced to fetch them. John would label this idea 'not good'.

I hear their footsteps almost as soon as I had thought of them. Sally was already dressed, Molly was in her pyjamas with a leather jacket draped over her shoulders. They both looked very tired. Did they not catch up on extra sleep? Or were they not sleeping as early as they said? They both went directly to the kettle. Humans and their tea. I shook my head, a single curl unfurling across my eye. I should ask John to comb my hair again. Its out of control.

"Lock?"

"John."

"You alright mate?" I thought on that for a second. Or rather longer than a second.

"No." John's mouth dropped open, then closed. He looked very serious and placed his cup on the table.

"Whats happened?"

I pointed to his socks. " Iwent...out. For socks." Except I didn't say socks. I said foot gloves because I'm an idiot.

"And..."

"Get-ting there!"

"Alright, alright. Sorry." It's not my fault I'm slow.

"Bonies. Angry...atme."

"Shit. Did they follow you here?"

"Not sure. But...wowwy." Double r's. I hate them.

"Alright, I'll tell them." He gestured to the rooms other occupants. Thats much easier than me attempting to do so. "You stay here."

Of course.

* * *

**JOHN**

Lock's message has me concerned. I'd be waiting for this to happen. This many living people in one building, bound to attract attention. And Lock's concern about the bonies, why are they angry at him? Do they sense he's different? It's possible. Theres so little we know about the undead. That means that he is also in danger. We should leave soon, if the bonies have followed him...

"John? What's wrong, mate?"

"Look, you guys, we need to talk."

It doesnt take long for everyone to stop and listen. Even some of the soldiers. I give them Lock's message. Which they argue about for several minutes. Either they believe him or they don't. In the end, it's Mycroft that speaks.

"I was worried this would be the case. We should leave as soon as we can pack our things."

"Today?"

"If possible. It's early morning, we do not want to venture out at night. They thrive in the darkness." The soldiers nodded, yes-sirred, and left the room. No doubt to pack their things.

Silence.

"What about Lock?" No one asked had bothered to ask.

"Yes, well. I of course would prefer him to come with us. But I realise that would be like pulling teeth. Once he doesn't want to do something, theres little one can do to make him. He can come with us if he wishes, but otherwise, perhaps he should stay here."

Lock, now by my side, makes a happy sort of sound. I don't think he understands.

I have to go with them.


	46. Chapter 46

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll probably touch more on Sherlock's view of things i the next chapter. This little idea popped into my head a few nights ago. It's in the distant future remember...so ...artistic licenseeeeeeee. Also I wonder if you figure out who the person Mycroft mentions is. It's pretty important. I probably shouldn't have told you that.
> 
> Ignore it.
> 
> Heh.
> 
> Enjoy.

**MYCROFT**

It was an afterthought, really, as I packed my things. Though what little I'd brought was already packed. An afterthought that made me remove the small portable dvd player from my backpack. It was an ingenious little thing. Very large memory, wonderful resolution and solar powered. In reality it was more of a very small laptop. It simply resembled the old portable dvd players. The soldiers had been using it when they weren't on watch. And a few nights before I had filled it with more movies, television shows and educational programs. It had slipped my mind until I was packing. I had brought it for a reason. To entertain the soldiers of course. But by bringing it and my small laptop, there had been a slim hope in my mind that they might be of some use to either Sherlock or John Watson.

I had no idea what I would find. It was an illogical hope. But I'd brought the laptop just in case. My thoughts upon hearing Sherlock was one of the undead but behaving in an unusual manner had caused a number of ideas to tumble through my head. And one had been, what if he could learn? I had dismissed it, and yet brought the items anyway. There had been a theory, a while back when everything first went wrong, that we could teach the undead. But of course, no one had taken it seriously. And then man who had proposed the idea had exiled himself from the compound.

However, as I headed back into the living room, where Lock sat perched on one of the chairs, his eyes flitting from one person to the next as they packed, I knew it had been the right idea to follow that thought and theory through. John had his bags under the table and Lock's as well. He looked greatly troubled. John was no doubt unsure if he should leave with us, or stay. Perhaps the two of them could wait, and make their own way back? It was dangerous however, but I could supply them with a map that detailed a few of the safe-houses that still existed.

He looked up as I approached and placed the small player, plus a protective cover and headphones, in his lap.

"What's this?"

"Entertainment. For yourself and Lock. But also, education. Children's programs mostly, but I believe you once told me, that he is technically, only five years old. I do not wish to belittle his intelligence, it's clear it's still all in there. But I believe he would benefit from some of the more simple educational programs first."

John was silent for a moment and then smiled.

"Glad you've seen the light Mycroft Holmes. Entertainment you say? You know...don't you. That I'm not sure if I should go with you lot."

"That you plan to travel there yourself? Of course, it was obvious. That is why I am also giving you this map. This markings here indicate a safe-house."

"There aren't many.."

"No, some we lost in the early days. This building used to be one in fact. But these should help should you be unable to travel at night."

"This...is a big help. Thank you. And I'm sorry...if I was a bit of a git to you earlier."

"I'm sure I deserved it." You don't need to apologise, Doctor Watson. I am glad that you have taken a liking to my brother, regardless of his condition.

"...Yeah, that's probably true."

* * *

**JOHN**

When he'd laid the box in my lap I wasn't sure if I should touch it. It might have exploded. I still wasn't sure how Mr Holmes thought of me. But entertainment? Closer inspection told me it was a small, portable player. But it had movies already loaded on it. A lot of movies. And some television shows I hadn't thought of in years! Still, I had to ask the obvious question.

"Glad you've seen the light Mycroft Holmes. Entertainment you say? You know...don't you. That I'm not sure if I should go with you lot." I can't leave him here alone, but he can't go to the compound either.

"That you plan to travel there yourself? Of course, it was obvious. That is why I am also giving you this map. This markings here indicate a safe-house."

"There aren't many.."

"No, some we lost in the early days. This building used to be one in fact. But these should help should you be unable to travel at night."

"This...is a big help. Thank you. And I'm sorry...if I was a bit of a git to you earlier." Though...you are a git.

"I'm sure I deserved it." Yes you did.

"...Yeah, that's probably true."

"It's also solar powered, if that helps. It can charge here, or via a usb. It runs wonderfully. Not that I have used it myself, but the men seem to enjoy it."

Wow, that is a big help. I know back at the compound, it's kind of a big thing right now, but the hospital has it's own generator. So does the compound technically. More than one. But people are all about renewable resources we can use to limit the amount of electricity. I'm not surprised really. Not that we could a lot of sunlight. But we get enough.

"Thanks. I'm sure Lock will enjoy it once he understands what it is." And ignores the fact that you gave it to us.

"I do hope so. Now...it looks like the others are ready. We must be off."

And they were, all packed and ready to go. Time had gone so fast. Greg was looking at me with confusion. He still thought I was coming with them. But I can't leave Lock. He'd only follow. He needs to get away from here for a little while, until the bonies calm down and leave him alone again. Plus we'd been planning on heading to the compound together earlier, before we'd met the others. And they knew that.

"Not coming, mate?" He was trying to make light of a situation that clearly had him a little spooked.

"Nah, might stay here for a bit. I'll be with you guys soon though."

"Got tired of us, did you? Don't blame you. Alright. Take care John." I almost leaped from the chair to hug him. Who knows if I would ever see him again? But I settled for a slap on the back.

"Goodbye, dear brother." Lock didn't make a move towards Mycroft. But nodded. I suppose thats better than nothing.

"See you around, Lock." He did however hand Greg one of his pictures, I swear I saw Mycroft wince. We need to work on their relationship. He's family. Lock needs family.

* * *

Suddenly they were gone and it was just the two of us. Lock wandered over to the table and picked up the player, examining it. I was still in shock. It was so quiet now. I had become used to the sounds of several people in the flat, I had felt more at home. Which does not mean I don't enjoy Lock's company, but he can be tiring sometimes.

"What...is it?"

"Hmm?"

"It."

"Oh, it's a player. It plays movies and tv shows."

"What?"

"...Here I'll show you."

I turned it on and waited for it to load. I selected one of those stupid crap daytime telly shows. My boyfriend is cheating on me with my brother, that sort of a show. Lock nearly fell of his chair trying to get away. Did he not remember tv? The one in the living room was covered in cobwebs and a doily. The doily had a toy monkey hanging from it. However, once the initial surprise was gone, he had become transfixed with the show, yelling at it as if the people could hear him. This would be perfect to keep him occupied at night. So he doesn't run off into the dark and get himself in trouble again.

I think I'll go take a shower while he's distracted.

"NO. NOT FAT-HER. THAT ONE!"

"STUPID!"

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

Everyone on this..."show" is an idiot.


	47. Chapter 47

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ANOTHER CHAPTER ALREADY IN HONOUR OF HALLOWEEN! Sherlockology created a zombielock wallpaper in the warm bodies style, did you know? And I redid my whole tumblr blog in the same style XD it's Zombielock themed! Woo!
> 
> Ok, this is a quick one. Probably one more happy chapter then we can have some angst!
> 
> Won't that be fun? :D
> 
> :D Won't it?
> 
> Enjoy!

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

John made us leave the next day. I don't know why he waited, the rest had been in an awful hurry. He packed the leftover bits of food in his bag as well as a board game in mine, a pack of cards and the playing device. I thought we were all set to leave once he'd changed into what I called his battle gear. Dark pants and jacket, military boots, gun, two knives and now a cricket bat. Where had that come from? He still had the brooches pinned to his jacket.

Good.

"Lock, have you seen Gladstone?" No. No that beast is not coming with us. It can stay here.

"No." I locked it in the linen cupboard.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Un-d-dead don'tlie."

"That's vulcans. And you're lieing between your teeth."

"...What?" What is a vulcan? Can you eat it?

"Nevermind. Stay here and don't move." As you wish.

* * *

He's been gone an awful long time. He must not be good at finding things. Should I find him? No..he told me to stay here. No doubt he would be angry if I were to move. Still...

"FU-ARRGH!"

"JOHN!" He sounded like he was in pain.

I left the spot and raced towards the sound of his cries. I found him on the floor with Gladstone on his chest. The cat had been frightened, probably leapt out of the closet and onto the first person it saw. John. And he was bleeding! I removed Gladstone from his person, the horrible creature leaping onto my shoulder and then into the room behind me.

"John...you ok?" Stupid, he clearly wasn't.

"I'm fine Lock, just surprised me thats all." John sat up, wincing.

"Blood..." Good thing I'm not a vampire, isn't that right John? I mean blood can sometimes be appetising but...not on you.

"Really? Poor thing must have been scared." Poor thing? It's a monster.

John stood and headed back into the kitchen where he rummaged through one of the packs and pulled out a first aid kit and handed it to me. What? I don't know what to do with this? Can't you treat yourself? You are a doctor? This is really the exact opposite of what I'm supposed to do in this situation you know. Stop giving me that look.

"Lock, I can't see where he's scratched me, all you have to do is put a plaster on them. It's as simple as that." Plaster...which one is a plaster.

I opened the box and most of it's contents fell out. Oops. John helped me pick things up before handing me three white stripes and told me to open them. I tried my best. But I have dead fingers. John helped me again but made a big show of sighing and opening the packets and handing me each strip. At least everything now was easy. I simply stuck the plaster to each scratch. That wasn't hard. I left their papers on the floor and stared expectantly at John. Surely a thank you wouldn't be too difficult.

Apparently it was.

John slung his pack onto his back and handed me mine and the harpoon. Gladstone was standing by the door, ready to go out. The fiend.

I hope you get horribly lost.

* * *

John didn't say anything as we walked. He was on edge and clearly had plenty of thoughts on his mind. I wish he would calm down. We got through this before, we will again. Unless that isn't what he is worried about. He's stopped. Why has he stopped walking. No. No no no no no. He's found a motorcycle. And he's excited. Two very bad things. I am going to walk away now.

"Lock.."

"No, John." I have to draw the line somewhere.

"It will be quicker." Quicker? You want to leave me that badly?

"No."

"Lock, come on. If we use this we can get to a safe house on the way in no time, I'm not planning to walk the whole way there without a break you know." No that would probably be dangerous.

"Not...safe."

"And walking slowly surrounded by zombies and hidden bonies is?" You are not surrounded. I am hardly a hoarde of zombies.

"Fine."

John removed my pack for some reason as I climbed onto the back of the motorcycle. I huffed as Gladstone leapt into the open bag John had now placed on the ground. He then handed it back to me. Wonderful. John started the motor and I suddenly had a flash of panick and grabbed him around the waist as it sped off through the streets of what was once London. John thought this was highly amusing. The dead and vehicles do not mix, John!

Oh shit.

I wish I could throw up.

* * *

**JOHN**

He's holding on so tight I think it's going to leave a bruise or two. At least theres no danger of him falling off though. I don't think he's even looking, I think his eyes are closed shut. Sorry mate. But this is quicker. Zombies rarely out run a motorbike. Bonies maybe, but I thankfully don't hear any.

Shit. I spoke to soon. I always do that!

"Hang on, Lock!"

"H-hang on?!"

We rounded a corner as the screeches got closer and I headed down the nearest alley. There was a box and a piece of wood long enough for me to drive of and fly over the fence that had blocked our path. That should keep them occupied for a bit. Lock was swearing, poor bloke. His head was buried in the small of my back. Just hold on, mate. We're not out of the woods yet. Another bonie had run ahead of us. I managed to dodge him, not before his fingers clawed the side of the bike. I reached behind me and pulled out my gun and shot it in the head. Just to be on the safe side. Lock screamed at me to look where I was going. But he wasn't even looking at all. How did he know?

Do you think this is the first time I've been on a motorbike trying to escape a hoard of zombies? Ok, it is, but I know what I'm doing.

Shit, theres another one.

* * *

Damn things were everywhere but I finally managed to outsmart them. They'd decided to leave me alone, not able to keep up with me. Good, it probably won't last but it will do for now. I kept driving until the sky started to get darker. It was going to rain. Bloody good thing we weren't far from the safe-house. I parked the bike in the little courtyard and shut the old barb-wire gate that probably hadn't been used in years. We were going through the back door. It was a metal door and required a key. Thank you Mycroft. I removed my gun before I opened the door and Lock held his harpoon in front of me. The building had two levels, an attic and a basement. Every entrance including windows were secure. It didn't have electricity but that was fine. We didn't need it and it would be less noticeable if we just used torches, candles or a lantern. Or all three.

We decided on staying in the attic for the time being as it had a removable ladder and Lock said this was safer. Bonies might be capable of leaping from rooftop to rooftop but Lock doubted they would chase us relentlessly. They only chased their food if it had a strong scent. And I was wearing Lock's patented zombie repellent. I unrolled my sleeping bag and flicked the switch on the lantern. Lock placed his bag on the floor, Gladstone rolling out as if it was exactly what he'd meant to do. Lock hissed at the cat until it leapt into an empty box and stayed there.

I spent the rest of the evening eating a small meal, playing a game of chess with Lock and then getting ready for bed. There had been a pile of old cushions that Lock had found and curled into like the cat he hated. I'd introduced him to headphones which he kept removing. He was watching something on the player as I got into my pyjamas. Whatever it was, it made him frown so intensely I had to ask what was wrong.

"What..isthis?" He turned the player around and...it was a zombie movie. Shawn of The Dead to be precise.

"Just a movie Lock. It's not real remember."

"Inaccur...wrong."

"Yes Lock. Now I'm going to sleep, ok?"

"Wrong. Z-zombie abuse."

"Whatever. Goodnight!"

* * *

"...'s wrong."


	48. Chapter 48

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a long rant on why i've taken longer than normal to write this chapter and why no author is perfect with grammar and typos, go to ff.net.
> 
> Enjoy. The next chapter won't be as nice.

**SHERLOCK**

I spent the night watching animated cartoons. Some were incredibly boring, but a few proved to be mildly entertaining. Even if they had made zero sense whatsoever and would be completely impossible in real life. They were better than the abusive, sickening, so-called Zombie Movies I had watched earlier. Everything was wrong, it was incredibly inaccurate. I do not care if they were made before the Apocalypse, that is no excuse for bad writing. I hope John has not seen any of them. I may have accidentally broken a few cardboard boxes in a fit of anger. Which is why the floor is covered in strange white beans. That are not very tasty. I only licked it to try and discover what it was and required another experiment. It was perfectly logical.

John must never find out.

I closed the device as daylight poked through the boarded up windows. I set it in one of the sunbeams, apparently it is powered by sunlight, just like people. Sitting back down on a pile of old boxes, I waited for John to wake up. It could be at any time. Any moment now. He will wake up, grumble, blink his eyes at the light and swear, grumble again because there is no tea and attempt to go back to sleep. Which he will fail at. I will simply wait until he has completed his morning ritual before commenting. I am not sure I have recovered from the last time...

If he does not wake up soon I will return to the video device and continue watching the impossible adventures of the boy and his yellow morphing dog.

* * *

Still not awake. Should I poke him? No...that might prove too dangerous. But I can not stay here and do nothing. Perhaps I ought to explore this safe house. Yes, that will be a good use of my time. I stood, looked over at John's sleeping body for one more moment, glared at Gladstone and then opened the trapdoor that led below.

* * *

Update...the safe house is not safe.

I got my fingers caught in a trap ladened with mouldy cheese, I narrowly missed being squashed under a falling grandfather clock, the kitchen was so dark I walked into the fridge and the table, my foot got stuck in a small white bin and I fell down the stairs. Which is where I am now. My body was not injured. No broken bones. I had managed to break my own fall but I was still upside down, and could slip down further at any moment. So I will stay here, sprawled upside down on the stairs, until I come up with a solution.

And how is John not awake yet?!

Ah! I timed that perfectly. I can hear him up above swearing and shouting my name. I would have left him a note...but it would just be in squiggles or possibly some zombie form of hieroglyphics. The trap door opens and I hear his feet hurrying down the ladder and towards the stairs. Where an awful sound escapes from his mouth. I don't ever want to hear that sound again.

"Lock! Oh God, Lock, are you alright?" He checks me over twice before lifting up my head and helping me to manoeuvre my body without slipping down the remainder of the stairs.

"I...amfine. John...G-good morning." He looks exasperated. And takes several deep breaths before continuing.

"Good morning? I wake up to find you gone and then find you halfway down the stairs and you say good morning? Do you have any idea how worried I was?" No...but it was only for a few minutes though...it is kind of nice to know you worry. Even though you shouldn't, I am quite alright.

"...Sorry?" He mumbles sorry under his breath several times before shaking his head and heading towards the kitchen.

"What happened to your fingers?!"

Oh yes.. the trap was still clamped around them.

* * *

**JOHN**

"You know, zombies don't heal the same way humans do." If you do at all, I reprimand him as I massage his fingers.

Which is pointless really, but it makes me feel better after prying the mousetrap off his fingers. Looking around, I don't remember it being in this much of a mess when we arrived. Lock was probably exploring. He has a cat's sense of curiosity. And it has a habit of getting him into trouble.

"I know. 'm fine." Whatever.

I let go of his fingers and head to the kitchen. Nothing really worked, but I still had the food in our packs and that was all I needed. I made myself a small breakfast, whilst Lock began to pull out the pots and pans from one of the drawers. It was useless to tell him to stop. So long as he made little noise, I don't care what he does.

I miss my tea.

* * *

After stopping the Pan Tower from collapsing and successfully removing a saucepan from Lock's head, I decided I really should do something to keep him from getting into anymore mischief. I could just make him watch something on the laptop, but I had a far better idea to keep him occupied. I began to teach him his letters. Three at a time. A, B and C. I explained the sounds, some words that began with those letters and showed him how to write them in upper case and lower case. We got to G by lunch time, I left him to his own devices whilst I searched through the bag for something I could eat without cooking it.

Lock stayed on the floor, trying to write the letter G again on the little blackboard I'd found in the attic. He holds the blue chalk like a child, with his fist. But he's very proud when he gets it right. His eyes shine and he smiles smugly to himself as if I had nothing to do with it and he figured it all out with no help from anyone else. Gladstone of course has to mess things about by walking all over the black board and leaving little chalk footprints on the floor. I have to physically restrain Lock until Gladstone has left the room.

I don't think 'I'll chalk you!' is much of a threat though.

A few hours later we are up to L. Which Lock likes very much now that he knows three letters that make up his name. He's written LCK in one corner, with the L of course backwards and the K is two times the size of the other letters. But it doesn't matter, I'm teaching a zombie to read and write, and it's working. Said zombie is having a blast and even though we really should have moved on, I think we will stay here agin tonight. It sounds stormy outside again tonight. A good excuse to stay.

But it means another night in the cold attic. Maybe theres some blankets around here somewhere...

"Lock? I'm going to look for blankets if we are to stay here another night. Will you be alright by yourself?"

He doesn't even answer, just nots and fills the black board with more L's.

"Alright. Yell if you need me."

Has to be a blanket here somewhere...

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

I don't know what he is worried about. I will be fine so long as the repulsive creature doesn't return. I continue writing a few more L's on the board. rather proud of myself. I am learning to read and write. I know almost all the letters. Will I be able to read a book one day? I have plenty back home. It would be interesting to know what's in them. And the files too! Oh this is rather exciting, isn't it!?

There is a sudden loud noise outside and I jump. It is thunder. Stupid. But it is so loud and I find myself putting my hands over my ears. I hear a yowling sound and I now know that Gladstone is also afraid of thunder and lightning. I mean afraid. Not also. I am not afraid. Another loud boom and I scurry up the stars towards a door. It's a closet. John probably got his blankets from there. It will be far less loud in here, so I push aside a box and crawl into the closet. Theres just enough room for me to sit cross-legged with out bending my neck. I have a torch, my chalk and black board. I will stay here until it is over.

No.

No you get out.

NO!

Fine.

Stupid cat.

* * *

**JOHN**

I find Lock a few hours later in the linen closet, with a blanket over his head, Gladstone curled by his side, terrified. Lock's blackboard has all the letters A-L in upper and lower case and it's almost legible. I pull him up and ruffle his hair, leaving the blanket on his head and gently pull him towards the attic's ladder.

"I wasn't...sc-cared."

"Of course not."

"Good...you know." Yes I understand, it's alright to be scared though. Thunder still does a number on me from time to time too.

I had spent my time making a much more comfortable and warmer bed, then watching a movie. Then wondering what Lock was up to. And then finally finding him in the linen closet. I can't say I'm surprised. Nothing he does surprises me anymore. I sit him down on my bed, put the player on his lap, the headphones in his ears and pulled the blanket down so it covered both his head and the laptop. Then I sat down beside him, my back to his and read. I do wonder if he has ever been frightened of storms before or if this...evolution he's going through has caused it. Maybe he's more comfortable in 221b so doesn't need to be afraid.

"John?"

"Yes, mate?"

"Thank..you."

"No problem. But I'm kicking you off this bed the second I get tired, alright?"

"Underst-...ok."

We have to continue our travels tomorrow my friend. And we will have to part ways soon.

I am sorry.


	49. Chapter 49

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short! Apologies, my hands are really bad but I had to write this! Now the angst will come. Apologies but it's planned since the fic was started because I am unable to start a story with the end or the middle appearing in my mind straight after.
> 
> ENJOY!

 

**SHERLOCK**

"Alright mate. Time for bed." Already? But it's...Oh right. I do not know the time. I should ask John to teach me. I used to tell the time via the routines of other zombies. Also the sky going dark helped as well.

I struggled off John's 'bed' and into my nest of cushions, taking my blanket with me. John decided to brush his teeth whilst I huddled under my blanket. The rain pouring down outside, followed by the occasional claps of thunder and then lightening. There was no logical reason for me to be frightened of it. It was just weather. And yes, it was loud. But logically I should not be concerned. But perhaps logic did not work where zombies were concerned. When John returned, he quickly climbed into bed, burying his head beneath the covers.

"Lock?"

"Yes?" Not good night yet then?

"Can I ask you a question?" You've never asked permission before.

"Of c-course, John."

"Does everyone bitten by a zombie turn into one when they die?" No. It depends on the location of the wound. For example if you eat their brain they definitely do not come back.

"No."

"Makes sense. Sorry. I was just curious." Against my better judgement I ask why. I hear him turn to look at me, even though the room is dark.

"Mike. Wondered if he was out there. He was a good friend." Mike. Yes, the man I killed.

"No."

"S'alright. Thanks for answering." I am sorry, John.

"Night Lock."

"G-good..John?"

"Lock?"

"...I am s-sorry."

John looked at me confused. I do not want to say what I am about to say. But I have to. He needs to know. And I need to get it off my chest. Because this man was a friend. "I..I..did it."

"What? What did you do?" He chuckled, confused but concerned.

"Mike."

There was a pause and then suddenly realisation.  _Oh_. He says.  _I see. Good night._  And then he turns away. I hear him mutter,  _I think I suspected that._  But it is not directed to me. There is a horrible feeling in my chest. I think it is guilt. I curl into the pillows with the player in my arms. Though it is turned off. I want to watch something, to ignore what I have just done. Distract myself. But it was the right thing to do, wasn't it? The truth was important. However, perhaps John's ignorance was also important. He will be very angry in the morning.

What have I done?

* * *

**JOHN**

"Oh. I see. Good night."

And I pulled the covers over my head. "I think I suspected that"

I should have known. It makes sense in away. After all, he was the closest zombie to Mike. But everything had happened so fast, I hadn't a chance to glance over and see what had happened to Mike. As I left the hospital, I had seen what remained. All those bodies. It never gets any easier. But when it's someone you care about. I'm not sure what to do with this information. Sleep seems to be the best option right about now. I'm not sure if I can continue this journey with him though. I saw him as a sentient being, with thoughts and feelings of his own.

I forgot he was supposed to be a monster.

I'll sleep now and try and get up in the morning without him noticing. If I can I will leave him with a note. Which hopefully he can read. Perhaps I will forgive him in time. Yes. I think I will. But I think it's best for him to return to 221b and for me to return to the compound. And I will visit him again when I've come to terms with the fact that a creature I have been calling a friend, killed another person I was close to. Ignoring what he's done would feel like I was putting him above Mike. This is doing my head in. I'm going to sleep. If only the rain would let up. It's far too loud. And I can hear the occasional whimper from Lock. I'm far too comfortable here and angry to help.

Sorry.

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

Something is not right. As I lay beneath the blanket, I felt strange. My eyes felt heavy, as if they were unable to stay open. I felt like I was fading. The player slid from my grasp and I clumsily tried to retrieve it before it was swallowed up by the cushions beneath me. I let my arms flop uselessly beside me as my eyes began to close. This has never happened before. Is this normal? No, if it was normal it would have happened before. Correct? There is no use arguing with myself in this condition. And I can't ask John. John...

John?

What is happening to me?

 _I am frightened,_  I think to myself. As everything fades to black.

* * *

_I find myself in a field of green grass. A small circle of trees appear before me, hiding me from view. But from who? Then I hear voices. They are arguing, but cheerfully. A debate. I step out from behind the tree, but they still do not see me. But at least I can now see them. John's short legs are stretched out before him, he is smiling. Lestrade and Mike sit on either side of him. On Lestrades other side is Mycroft and Anderson. And on Mike's are Molly and Donovan. I don't know what they are debating about. So I listen._

_"Look, it's a fools hope, mate." Greg chuckles, he is in doubt._

_"No. That's where you're wrong. I've seen far too much to not believe in hope. There has to be a cure and I will find it." John, ever hopeful._

_"And then what?" Mycroft scoffs._

_"You will exhume the world?"_

_"I don't think that's the word you are searching for, Molly."_

_John grins. "No, but it works. We'll exhume the world."_

_"You're dreaming, mate."_

_"Maybe I am, but there's nothing wrong with dreaming. Right, Lock?" He looks straight at me, they can see me now. I see no anger or hatred in John's eyes. Mycroft looks surprised. The others appear neutral._

_"Are you actually dreaming? But you're dead! The dead don't dream!" Greg attempts to swat the annoying Anderson from speaking another word. But he is right._

_Am I dreaming?_

_"He has as much right as anyone else to dream. Don't you, Lock? Do you have a dream?"_

* * *

_"I'm not sure. I have never really thought about it. I must though." Everyone has a dream, don't they? That thing you strive for? To achieve or see or experience. What is mine? What are mine?_

_"Perhaps he does not have one."_

_"Leave him alone, Mycroft. Come on, Lock. You must have something you really want."_

_To get better. And to keep you as a friend. But they aren't dreams. They are impossibilities. But then this was also an impossibility. However, here I am. Here is a relative term. I can't really be in this field. I can't really be dreaming either. Zombies are unable to dream. Have I evolved?_

_"I want to get better. And I want to remember."_

_"Is that all?"_

_"I want to exhume the world." Except it's not the right word. But it works._

_"I think that's a great dream, mate."_

_"Of course it is, it's mine."_

_"Now you're sounding more yourself." But I sounded nothing like myself. Will I want this dream to come true._

_Why is the world shifting?_

* * *

I wake up, it is morning and I am alone.


	50. Chapter 50

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG 50. 50 CHAPTERS. NOOO I DONT WANT IT TO BE TOO LONG. But I sense it will be. Dx. I can't seem to write short things. Except drabbles and no one has requested one in ages. XD. You lot are all so wonderful. This is one of my most popular fics. With The Stars Series being my most popular ones. The other fics have perhaps under 10-15 reviews. I never expected such a response when I wrote it. I just thought it was an interesting idea. But people seem to really enjoy this! Even though I think my writing in this is not as good as in the Stars Series. I had never written first person before this fic. Nor had I written first person multiple POVs. Well...there was my first ever fic. But that was only four chapters and each was a different person about the same events. I'd never written one before.
> 
> I still hope you are enjoying yourselves after so many chapters. Most people might be CONTINUE THE PLOT ALREADY. But you aren't. And I am sorry. I am very sorry. But some things will happen soon that have been planned since the fic started. Since I am incapable of seeing the middle and end of a fic before even starting xD.
> 
> However I really like the idea and will have to use some artistic license to do it. But welcome anyone who is interested in helping me develop the idea. Just PM me if you are.
> 
> ANYWAY ENJOY THIS 50TH CHAPTER.

 

**SHERLOCK**

The room was empty. Alright. Don't panic. Remember what happened last time. He had to go outside, take some time for himself. There was no need to jump to conclusions. Although, his things are gone and the harpoon is missing. And there is a peace of paper where is bed had been. On top of it lay the badges I had given him as 'medals'. Why would he take them off and leave them? Did he not want them anymore? There are words written on the paper. I A-M. I am. S-O-R-R-Y. I am ...sorry. Sorry for what?

John?

"JOHN?!"

I fly down the ladder and then the stairs. I can see the bike is missing when I look out the windows on my way down. I push open the door and run outside. There are track marks on the dusty ground. John has left on the bike. Without me. He is gone. I was afraid this might happen if I were to tell him the truth. And I was right. He has left for his home. Does he no longer want me as a friend? I can hardly blame him. I am rather more dangerous than most potential friends. I sigh to myself, my whole body heaving as I head back inside to retrieve my things.

There aren't many left and the pack is considerably lighter than it had been previously. I do not even know why I am taking it. But as I examined the items within, my camera, pencils and papers and other objects of mine, were still inside. That's all that mattered. I leave the building feeling perfectly miserable. This is what I get for dreaming. You can not change who you are. I will always be a dead eyed zombie, a monster with a taste for flesh. Did I really think he might stay after I told him? What an idiot I am. This is ridiculous. This is what I get for wanting more out of this half-life.

I must accept this is what I am. It is easier not to feel. Then I wouldn't have to feel like this.

* * *

Of course the weather decides at this point that what I really need now, is rain. Normally it would never bother me, but after watching all those 'movies' on the player, which John has left behind, is that is usually reflective of what the character is feeling. And I feel like rain. What is that? I pull my coat closer, lifting the lapels towards my face. Is this cold? Is this what cold feels like? But the dead don't feel the cold. I am wet, and I am cold. No..I am freezing. My body is shivering. If it didn't feel so horrible it would be fascinating.

I hear something crying behind me and I turn around so suddenly that I go flying through a muddly puddle, the water splashing me in the face. Not that it matters, my hair is already plastered to my skull. The source of the noise is a very wet cat. And very wet and angry cat. Why has he followed me?! John is the one he likes. We both like John and hate each other. Although, now John hates me. I push myself up onto my knees and growl.

"Go.. away!" But he does not budge. In fact he comes closer.

"Mrt?"

"No! Go! L-leave! Not want you!" I want John...

But Gladstone is as stubborn as me. Fine. He can follow me if he wants but I will pay no attention to him. I don't need him. I have my spiders back home. I don't need a horrible cat as well. Together we walk through the rain, it doesn't seem to bother him, despite being of the feline variety. But then he stops in front of me. I consider kicking him, but I don't. He looks at me, his eyes too understanding for an animal, but then isn't that what I am? Then he leaps onto my chest. I flail and try to remove him but...this is going to sound stupid. I think he wants me to hold him. If he isn't going to leave I might as well oblige.

His body is warm. I can feel his warm pulsing through his little body. Still cold, but alive. I hold him as I continue my journey. Any of my kind I see ignore me and Gladstone. They probably assume he is lunch. Do they assume? Or am I the only one? I tell myself to stop wondering. I need to stop. I need to stop thinking and feeling. Everything was easier before I felt. I always thought but not as much as this. Emotions should be hated. They only bring pain. And pain is not even the worst of them.

They bring love. And love hurts most of all.

* * *

**JOHN**

Do I feel bad about leaving him? Yes I do. But I couldn't continue on this journey with him. Not after what he's done. I let him come out of pity and because I considered him a friend. I don't think I'm far from the compound and hopefully he will return to 221b. And when I feel more myself, I will perhaps visit him. Who knows, maybe he will have progressed even more. Part of me wishes I had never met him but the other half calls me an idiot. I can't imagine not meeting him. He's changed my life and I know I've changed his.

I wish I could have found Gladstone in time. I didn't want a pet before, but now that I have had one and lost him, I feel very much alone. Perhaps in the compound there is a cat with kittens. Surely there must be at least one. Miss Hooper will know. She seemed very fond of cats. Oh God, Mycroft is going to kill me. Though I never promised I would bring him. He doesn't have to know that I left his brother alone. I was in my rights to do so. He killed my friend. How could I stay with him after that?

I can see the compound's walls in the distance now. Good. Not long to go.

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

Is this the right way? There's so much water in my eyes. I don't remember which way we came. Because we were going so fast. Oh no...I'm lost aren't I? Marvellous. Wait, that alley looks familiar. It has red writing on the wall of a building. I didn't know what it was before. But now I do. It says, W-E R A-L-L G-O-N-N-A D-I-E. We R all gonna die? Ah. Way ahead of you. This must be old. It looks old. But the top of the building has a roof covering the alley beneath. I can stay here until it stops raining. I find a dry patch of ground and set my bag and then myself upon it. Gladstone doesn't seem to want to move but eventually decides dry ground is more comfortable than a wet body.

I don't blame him, I'm sopping wet and this time I don't have a friend with a towel to dry me. But I do have a blanket. I open my back and remove it, wrapping it around my shoulders. That's better, though soon it will be useless. But perhaps the rain will have stopped by then. And I will be able to continue home. I don't know how long it will take me. What if I have to dream again? Was that a one off thing? I'm still dead. Perhaps when it gets darker, I will found somewhere for the night, just in case. Though I do not want to dream. What if it is a bad dream? Like the one John had? I do not think I am currently emotionally equipped to deal with a nightmare. Not on my own.

I pull the blanket closer, shivering. I miss John. I miss my home.

I wish I couldn't feel a thing.

* * *

**MORAN**

**Zombie appears to have been abandoned by his human friend. He will be much easier to approach now. -SM**

**Wonderful! I have contacted her by the way. She is happy to be of service. -JM**

**Her?..Oh no. Not her. Do we really need her? You didn't ask her to help with the others. -SM**

**They weren't this promising. Besides I want our little zombie to look his best. -JM**

**Fine. So long as I don't have to work with her for long. When do you want me to fetch him? Your new men arrived yesterday. Very eager. -SM**

**As soon as you see an opening. Yes they are, do take care of them if they do something stupid. I want this one whole -JM**

**Understood. Speak to you once the mission is over. -SM**

This will not be easy, but surveillance indicates that he may be weakened. The dead shouldn't be concerned about someone leaving them. But this one does. And he even appears to feel the cold. I will maintain surveillance on him until the weather lets up. If necessary I will even allow him to return to Baker Street. That's where he feels safe. If he feels. This is a whole new species of zombie and I hope Jim knows what he's doing. The others have not been this self aware. And Jim want's to change that.

No this won't be easy, but I do think it will give me a little bit of a thrill. Capturing one always does.


	51. Chapter 51

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AW YEAH!
> 
> Now we are getting somewhere! Sorry, no John this time. But we've had a lot of him, now it's time for some other characters to get a little screen time. 
> 
> ENJOY
> 
> OR DON'T.
> 
> I'm not your mother.

 

**SHERLOCK**

The rain has finally stopped. Good. I can continue my journey home. If I can remember it. There are a few of my fellow kind wandering about. They pay me no attention. Just making their rounds for the day. I try and remember the paths we took, any familiar buildings. Eventually I find a store with an eye-catching display that looked familiar. I decided to go inside. It contained books, discs and toys. I select a blue box from a shelf and pocket it. As well as some of the discs. I decide against the books. My reading is still nowhere near book level. Gladstone plays with a red thing that had fallen on the floor. It resembled a salt or pepper shaker. It has a something poking out of it's side. Which it seems can be turned. The little wheels on the bottom move when I let go of the wind up mechanism. So I repeat the action and place it on the floor. It spins in a circle and around Gladstone, who appears delighted with it. Very well. I will take that also.

We leave shortly after I had taken two more of the pepper pots, a wind up blue box and a very long scarf that Gladstone had dug his claws into. My own scarf is wet and like a rag. I throw everything into my pack and head down the road. So many cars, why had people not taken them when they escaped I wonder. Where they killed before they could? Cars are horrible beasts. I give them a wide berth. How much father, I wonder? It did not take us long to reach the safe house, but we had been on a motorcycle. It's not that I don't mind walking, it's just...very boring. And the cold has made me feel numb.

How much time will it take for me to get home?

* * *

I hear the sound of the motor and duck behind some rubble. It's a large armoured vehicle. Why were they here? It's not uncommon for the living to venture out of their safe haven, but so soon after the previous group? Unless, perhaps the Compound is not the only one of its kind. It would make sense. It is naive to think that that place is the only one of it's kind in the world. Others must have survived and created similar havens. It's stopping. Several people get out. Five men and two women. One of the woman starts to smoke and the man next to her complains. They all carry weapons. But they are too far away for me to hear them. Wait, two of them are missing. Where did they go? Why have they stopped here anyway? There is nothing of use for them to collect. Most humans head for medical centres...

Sometime wraps it's around my shoulders, trapping my upper arms. I struggle in surprise and another flies over my head. A lasso my mind supplies me. They have lassoed me twice and now I can't move my arms. But I can still move my feat! One of the men laughs as I attempt to kick him in the stomach, dodging easily. I lunge forward, attempting to bit him in the neck, but he deflects me with the edge of a knife. I can see my reflection in it. I look like a monster.

"Not bad, not bad. Most don't even get that close. Bronson, get the sack." Sack?

The man named Bronson removes a hessian sack that had been rolled and fastened at his waist. He throws it over my head and ties it tight. It's so long it reaches my hands, still trapped at my side. Something slams into my back, most likely a foot and I fall to my knees. People are talking around me. But the hessian muffles the sound. Finally a voice appears by my ear.

"Alright, don't panic. We're going for a little ride. Sorry about all this, but we weren't sure how you would react. Now, I know you don't like cars but you won't have to look out the window and we won't travel too fast. Aren't we nice? Come on, up you get." His arms lift me to my feet and a hand on my lower back gently pushes me forward. Might as well comply, they would probably shoot me if I didn't. My leg hits a step and I instinctually step up onto small stairs leading into the back of the van. One person pushes me so I hard I fall forward onto my stomach. I can hear him being reprimanded.

I feel strangely calm about my current situation. Perhaps it's because I've already lost what I most cared about. And perhaps because I might learn something, wherever they are taking me. I like knowledge. I want to know more. I still, however, feel numb. I still wish I felt nothing. I am at odds with my self. I want to know everything, I want to evolve. But at the same time, knowing how much it would hurt, knowing that there are somethings perhaps I will never be able to master...Shouldn't being a zombie, be easier than being alive?

The van is moving. I wondering where we are going?

What happened to Gladstone?

* * *

**MORAN**

**I have him. It was easy. We are on our way back -SM**

**Excellent! I won't see him tonight. Busy, busy. Lock him up when you get home. We will have to begin our fun tommorow. -JM**

**You're the boss. -SM**

**And don't you forget it. By the way, she's arrived and she is being as difficult as usual. But I feel this time things might be a lot more interesting. I want to see just how much he can learn. JM**

**You've only told me this several times, Jim. I have to go, I want to look through his things. -SM**

**Can't that wait till you get here? I want to look too! -JM**

**Stop being a child. Goodbye -SM**

**You're no fun. Why do we even know each other? -JM**

**Because you need me. -SM.**

I don't know everything he has planned for you, zombie. But be thankful he wants to keep you alive, not discard you like the others. He finds you interesting, so stay interesting. The things he has planned for the world, he wants you to be a part of it. You should be grateful.

"Hey, do something! Ugh, so boring!" One of my men started to kick the zombie, still laying on the ground. I lunge forward, grabbing his ankle before he can strike again and twist it.

"Do not harm the merchandise. I realise you are new, but we need him whole."

"You mean we can't hurt him? What kind of bullshit is that?!" The boy, for that's what he is really, nurses his injured limb and glares.

"He's dead, you can not hurt him in any case. And the boss wants him whole. Who pays you?"

"The boss." The child sighs. "I only joined so I could hurt them though. They killed my whole family..." A familiar story.

"How old are you?"

"I'm seventeen." So young. Don't burn out fast kid. What a world to grow up in.

"Plenty of us have lost family or friends to the undead, be thankful you are alive. Don't worry, you will get to hunt some zombies at some point. But not the ones we collect. They are the boss's playthings." The kid gleefully chuckled and sank back down to the floor of the van.

"What does he do with them?"

"He tries to teach them. He learns what makes them tick. If they prove useless, he abandons them. If they turn into bonies, well, then we kill them." This is a lie of course. If they are useless we kill them. He experiments on them. But I don't want the zombie to hear. He's smarter than the average corpse. Which is why I don't think the boss will discard this one. If it proves useless, he will probably keep it as a pet. But he wants this one for something important. Something the others can't learn about yet.

"Bonies are horrible." The boy shudders, speaking the obvious.

They are true monsters. The zombies are halfway between pure innocence and destruction. Almost human, almost a monster. People really don't understand them. Well most people.

* * *

"Boss?" Bronson calls out from the front seat. "We're almost there." How time flies. A few hours have ticked by already.

"Come on, everyone out! Don't worry about him, I'll get it." I grabbed the zombie by his ties and pull him to his feet.

"We are here. Come, time to show you your new home."

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

Here...but where is here? And I am sure it will never be my home. After all, isn't home where your heart is?


	52. Chapter 52

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter!~ I have several in the works already.. (but in my head, it's been a long time coming these chapters.)
> 
> Yes, soon we get to meet 'her' and Sherlock will get a makeover! Sort of. He won't like it though. He hasn't learned how to be properly embarrassed yet.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

 

**SHERLOCK**

I wish I could see. It's horribly disconcerting, not being able to see where you are going. Couldn't they have cut eye holes? Or would that have defeated the purpose? I trip several times. The men laugh, they have guided me towards obstacles so that I would fall over for their amusement. How very funny. I forgot how to laugh. The only one that doesn't laugh is the polite one. His hand is on the small of my back, and it only leaves it if I fall. I do not think he is too happy with their antics though. We stop, I hear a door opening and I am pushed inside.

We walk down a corridor and stop again, getting into a small room. A lift? There are a few still working in London. When I was younger, and days got particularly boring, I used to ride them up and down for a whole day, pressing every button. It was amusing at the time. Bit childish now I think. It jolts and moves downward. Underground? Is that where we are heading? It does make sense, for a safe house or compound to be underground. Another jolt and the door opens. This lift must be old. They push me forward again and we walk down another corridor. I hear faint voices that stop once we enter a room. The sack is untied, removed and suddenly I can see.

Oh.

The room is dark and filled with cages, all positioned against the wall. They are small, the occupants have to stay seated or kneel. They can not lie down either. Most cages are filled with my kind. They were silent before we entered, now they are yelling and screaming. A man with baton bangs every cage as he goes past, shouting back. But they don't listen. So he sprays them with a hose. Someone elbows me and I realise the polite man is trying to get my attention.

But is this supposed to be my new 'home?'

"Another one? Ain't he got enough?" The man spits with every word. It's disgusting.

"This is a special one. He wont be here long. And he's quiet, he won't be a hinderance."

"Quiet ones are rare, so he must be special." Says a tall man, leaning against a wall.

"Quiet or not, 'e's another mouth ta feed and another zombie ta watch. Put 'im in cage 25." The spitting man signs something on paper and stamps it, giving it to my handler. "Ya want the shackles?"

"He might as well get used to them."

The polite man, really he needs a better name. I shall call him Scar. He has one across his left eye. The polite man takes a pile of chain from the spitting man and wraps a belt of it around my waist. Attached to the belt are four cuffs. I still can't move, but I do attempt to try. These don't look comfortable, whether I can feel pain or not. He quietly reprimands me. I'd rather he yelled, his politeness worries me. He attaches a cuff to each wrist and ankle. Then removes the rope locking my arms in place. I instinctively raise my hands, but find I can't. The chains attached to the cuffs prevent me from fully extending my arms. I still have my teeth though. A zombies greatest weapon. After our nails of course. But he is prepared for that too. The minute I move, I find a strange leather covering being fastened onto my head. It's a red muzzle, adapted for use on zombies. Except where a dogs muzzle might have holes as they loop around his protruding mouth, this simply had a hard strip of leather covering the mouth completely. I had no way of eating, speaking or biting.

This...this is terrifying.

What are they going to do with me?

* * *

Scar drags me towards a cage near the end of the room. There is another cage on top of it. How do they get people into those ones? He opens the cage door with a flourish and pushes me in, locking it behind me. It's so small. I can barely sit up, I have to slouch or curl into a ball. The cage itself is empty. Some of the ones on either side of me have discarded bones and dried blood on the stone floor. The zombie in the cage to my left pulls pieces off her dress, making a small pile of fabric. The one to my right just stares at me, glaring. I shrink so my back is against the wall, drawing my knees up against my chest.

He reaches through the bars, trying to grab me. Luckily, his chains prevent him from getting close enough. But this places, it's horrible. I have to get out. I can't stay here. But how do I escape? They took my things and I don't have a key. It can't be hopeless. I need to escape. I have to see John again. Unless...well, we didn't part on good terms. He might not want to see me ever again.

OH!

Is this Mycroft's doing? He wanted to take me back, is this it? Has he taken me here for tests and experiments?! But he promised! And you aren't supposed to break those. It's against the rules.

* * *

...I'm frightened.

* * *

I want to go home.

* * *

Hell... I even miss Gladstone.

* * *

**MORAN**

Once we had the chains and muzzle on him, he became oddly docile. He curled up at the back of the cage, he seemed frightened of the occupants in the neighbouring cells. Well, he's different. If he's very lucky, Jim might arrange for him to have a room. He did with the last one. For all it lasted four days. But it wasn't anywhere near the level this one has advanced to. Speaking of Jim. I better go say hello. He gets moody if I don't come and visit when I arrive from a mission. But he gets moody about everything lately.

"Ya going to the Boss?"

"Yeah, better go, I have a lot of paperwork to fill out now."

"I don't envy ya. Don't worry, we'll keep an eye on ya boy here. Won't we lads?" The men and women chuckle, I have do doubt they will mistreat them. But to a point. There are rules here, like everywhere.

"I'm sure you will. See you later, Phillips."

"Aw, get outta here, Soldier Boy."

* * *

I left grinning, which is rare for me, but I do enjoy being in the company of others when I feel like it. Even if most of them are almost as stupid as the zombies. I return to the lift and go up two floors to Jim's apartment. There are three up here now. Mine, Jim's...and hers. Honestly I don't see why she can't have quarters with everyone else. But there was room here and she apparently requires more room than smaller quarters would provide. Plus she has her entourage. Jim's door is red, newly painted and with a gold knocker in the shape of a fox. I don't bother to knock though, I just let myself in.

_"From the day he was born_   
_He was trouble_   
_He was the thorn_   
_In his mother's side_   
_She tried in vain_

_But he never caused her nothing but shame_

_He left home the day she died..."_

"Jim."

_"_ _From the day she was gone_   
_All he wanted_   
_Was rock and roll porn_   
_And a motorbike_   
_Shooting up junk, h_ _e was a low down cheap little punk._

_Taking everyone for a rideeeeee"_

"Jim..."

_"When Eddie said he didn't like his teddy_   
_You knew he was a no good kid_   
_But when he threatened your life_   
_With a switch blade knife_

_What a guy_

_Makes you cry_

_And I did"_

"JIM!" I switched off the player with it's remote. Finally I had his attention.

"Oh, what did you do that for?! Can't you see I was busy?"

"No."

"And didn't you see the sign?"

"You mean the one sitting on your desk saying 'Do Not Disturb On Pain Of Incarceration?'"

"Yes. That's the one. Well.. I suppose you're here now. Why don't you sit down?" I retrieved an apple from the fruit bowl and sit opposite Jim, who leans back against the cabinet behind him.

"Everything go smoothly?"

"Perfectly sir."

"Excellent!" He clapped, his mouth erupting into a grin. "I shall begin the preparations then. He will meet her tomorrow afternoon and be moved to his new room that night."

"So soon?"

He dismissed my comment with a wave of his hand. "Yes, can't waste time now that I have him. I will examine him after he's been cleaned and groomed. You know I don't like to get my hands dirty."

Oh believe me, I know.

"Fine. I'll tell the others then."

"How is he doing, by the way." Jim leaned forward, his chin resting on folded hands.

"I think he's frightened. But they often are very confused when they are first imprisoned. Most get angry though. He just sits there. Some do. Quiet ones pop up every now and then."

"Interesting. Well. You better go and change." Jim stood, waving his hand at the door.

"Change?"

"Yes, we're having a nice dinner tonight, just the six of us." Wonderful, that means a clean uniform, brushed hair and attempting to avoid being flirted with over hot meals.

"...I see. Fine. See you later then."

"Bye bye Sebby dear!"

I hate it when he calls me that.


	53. Chapter 53

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a filler. Not too great. I have a few chapters already planned after this then...lol idk what's going to happen.
> 
> Enjoy.

 

**MORAN**

The dinner went quickly thankfully. It mainly consisted of decent food, flirting and important information shared between Jim and Irene. I got away as soon as possible and retreated to my room. Their conversations had nothing to do with me. I won't see the new addition again until Jim as decided he can or should, be moved. Or if I am called upon to deliver him to Irene. Until then everything to do with him is none of my business. Irene will clean him up and make him look presentable. But she also as an annoying knack of being able figure out what makes people tick. What they like, what they don't like. Desires and fears. Jim is far better at organising grand ideas or experiments. He loves puzzles within puzzles, crimes with layers. But they have to be interesting, otherwise he will get bored.

They'll be discussing things until late in the evening. Especially since they haven't seen each other in quite awhile. They both admire each other, but that is as deep as their 'friendship' goes. Jim finds her useful and amusing. And she's scarily intelligent, I think Jim enjoys talking to someone on the same level as himself. Whereas Irene, she owes him, but she why she agrees to do this, when I know Jim often makes her uncomfortable, I'll never know. She likes flirting with danger, but that's not it. It is really, none of my business.

I decided to curl up my armchair with a good book, with a mug of strong coffee and plate of biscuits for a late night snack.

* * *

**JIM**

We don't spend long catching up. Which suits me just fine. Though it is nice to finally have an intelligent conversation again. Seb is a dear but he can be very single minded sometimes. And he's often all business, all the time. It can become very tiresome. Irene was eager to meet our newest zombie, as was I. But I can be very patient. We arranged for her to meet him tomorrow. He must be clean before I meet him. I can't stand the smell of the walking dead. And I don't like to get my hands dirty. Usually. Depends on the dirt.

We jump right into business, to hell with the pleasantries.

"The usual?"

"Of course. The whole package. Nothing spared. He is apparently rather docile, but do take all safety measures as usual." It would be a shame to lose you. Though, it would also be interesting if you turned.

"Wonderful, I look forward to meeting him. We should get things ready before we pop off to sleep." Irene gestured to her underlings and stood, kissing me on the cheek. "It is lovely to see you again, Jim." I'm sure it is.

"Likewise. Have fun!"

Because even if you don't, I will. Oh the plans I have yet to set in motion.

They're to die for.

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

I do not know how much time has passed. The other zombies became restless after a time and then active whenever someone new entered the room. Sometimes they hosed us down, because, they said, of the smell. A few threw things at us. Apple cores, cans, stones. Whatever they could find. It was horrible. They laughed and they jeered. Shouting insults or spitting at us. They liked having the upper hand, if only they knew, not all of us enjoy being what we are. The only reprieve came when Scar returned, appearing well rested. A night must have passed. But it seemed so much longer...

"Good mor-...well it's afternoon now. Good afternoon, sir!"

"How is our new guest?" If I am your guest, you are appalling hosts.

"Still quiet. Doesn't like the water though. But a lot of them don't." Scar nods and wanders over to my cage, inspecting me.

I curl up at the back of it, as far from him as possible. But I do my best glare, which only makes him smile. He taps the cage walls, but I don't preform for him. He nods to himself, confirming something in his head, and straightens. He walks back over to the others and and writes something down on a pad of paper. He then pulls out a phone of sorts and speaks into it. He gets the answer he desires, because he seems relieved.

"Ya want the collar? We got a new leash a few days ago. Stronger than tha last." Leash? Collar? I am not an animal!

"Just the basic one. The boss will probably have one made up for him later." Scar is handed a thick and peeling leather collar and a chain leash.

A group of the living idiots heads to my cage, with a stick ending in a large metal hook. Once the cage is open, I decide not to attempt an escape. There are too many of them and only one of me. I don't fancy those odds. This is no doubt why they have the hook. They lever it under my belt and pull me towards the entrance, three of them restraining me as soon as I am close enough. Scar fastens the collar around my neck and adjusts the chain. I am let go by the henchmen and sharply pulled towards the lift. I consider resisting, but we are already now in the lift. We go up two levels, Scar staring ahead of him the entire time while I stared at the blood stained floor.

The door suddenly opens and he pulls me down a long, grey corridor. There is a door ahead of us, illuminated, with someone singing inside. Scar opens it with a flourish and the singing stops. Pity, it was nice. Two women and two young men are waiting inside. The tallest, in clothes seemingly suited for a science experiment, which still made the wearer look flirtatious. On second glance the lab coat appeared to be a shear black fabric, the shirt underneath was revealing and the pants; tight. Her hair was up in an elaborate style with a small decorative clasp, shaped like a bone, pinned to the side. She clapped her hands as soon as we entered, making me jump and Scar grumble. He didn't like her. It was incredibly obvious.

"Is this him? Wonderful, thank you dear. You can leave him in our capable hands." Scar looked only too happy to leave, but he gave me a sorrowful look before he left. I think he feels sorry for me.

"Now darling, let's have some fun. Marco, Kate, Allen! It's time to begin."

I don't like the sound of that.

* * *

**IRENE**

It's a pity he's dead, he looks quite handsome under that dirt and grime. It will be a pleasure to bring him a little closer to the living. All it takes is a little makeover. He'll appreciate it later. Now, what should we do first? A bath, obviously. A haircut would do wonders. We need to strip him first, to get a better look at what we're dealing with. Dear Sebastian, that I can make such a man uncomfortable. I must be doing something right. I clap my hands together again and call my loyal crew. Each wonderful in their chosen fields, and elsewhere as well.

"Marco and Allen. Strip him and change his restraints. Kate, dear. Prepare the bath."

"Are we showering him first?"

"Absolutely. But we need the bath to be ready by then." I see a sudden rush of panic pass over the zombie's face. Interesting. They did tell me this one feels emotions.

This is going to be fun.


	54. Chapter 54

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY SHERLOCK DAY!...For some of you at least.
> 
> I'm waiting on a download. I missed it because of timezones. 
> 
> SO EXCITED!
> 
> This isnt a perfect chapter. I wrote it several times in my head but I couldn't translate the images as well as I would have liked. Everything just goes so much more smoothly when the characters are acting it out in your head. 
> 
> Anyway, ENJOY!

**SHERLOCK**

Strip? STRIP? No, you are not taking off my clothes. Absolutely not! Out of the question. It's not decent!

It appears I have no choice in the matter, they have pointed a gun at me and ordered me to remove my coat. I suppose I must comply. But it is not easy to undo all the buttons. When I finally am able to remove it, they throw it to the side as if it means nothing. It means a lot to me. They cut away the rest of my clothing, while one of them places a gun against my cheek. The...The Woman watches with her arms folded, slightly smirking. She's enjoying this. What sort of person is she?

Eventually I am left wearing not a stitch of clothing and I instinctually lower my arms to cover myself. But why? I don't feel embarrassed, but it simply feels like the right thing to do. Now The Woman moves, clapping her hands again and everyone but the one holding the gun at my face, moves away so she can "examine" me. A leather collar is placed around my neck, after the other is removed, a leash is attached to this one as well. Disgusting things.

She circles me before ordering a shower to be started and I am pushed inside under freezing cold water.

It is cold! I know it but I also feel it! Like with the rain, I thought it might simply be a one off reaction. I shiver and try to avoid the spray but one of them had suited up with a large scrubbing brush. Oh I see where this is going. Just you try. And he does, poor blighter. I almost feel sorry for him. In the end, another enters to help him. They aren't as thorough as I thought they would be, but through the glass surrounding the shower, I see the bath is filled with white, fluffy bubbles. A bath. There, I think I would be more comfortable. I'd probably be unwilling to leave.

"Time to get out!"

One of them pulls on the leash and I hiss at him. I get a nice reaction but there is still a gun. Just another empty threat then. Fun though. They push me towards the bath and this time I eagerly get in. The water is not cold. It's...comfortable, it's gentle. It's...if I could sleep this would be wonderful. It must be warm. Is this what it feels like? Perfection. I slide in until the water is up to my chin. The bubbles surround me. Such peculiar things. As much as I want to lean back and relax, my curiosity take over and I sit up. I pile the bubbles on top of one another, making a tower. As I do, I notice a number of other odd things floating in the bath. A yellow duck, a bucket shaped like a turtle and a little blue boat that had a face.

As I examined the items I felt someone touching my hair. I quickly turned around, spraying said someone...The Woman, with water. She was wearing a transparent waterproof plastic...thing. A poncho? No that wasn't correct. It was certainly not a raincoat. I considered trying to bite her hands, but she held a bottle of something in one glove covered hand. The look on her face made me think twice. She poured the contents of the bottle on my head and began to massage it through. Oh...that was rather pleasant. I like this. Wait...NO! It was in my eyes! It caused me no pain, but my eyes clearly protested. I shut them quickly and made a face, to show my displeasure. I heard only polite laughter. Then she took the turtle bucket and poured the water over my head. I spat out the water that had entered my mouth in her direction. She only smiled.

I don't like her.

She's not nice.

* * *

The Woman and her cronies scrubbed me from top to bottom, one would try and distract me with the bath toys, as if I were a child. It didn't work. The duck was interesting. It made an interesting sound if you threw it at someone's head. I ignored the boat. I think it must have been faulty. It kept going around and around and around. Eventually it sank beneath the bubbles, which were slowly dying themselves. My tower had long since gone. All things must end, even bubbles. Much of the water had already ended up on the floor anyway, it has soaked through The Woman's shoes, much to my delight as they looked very expensive.

"Do we brush his teeth now or when he gets out?" Teeth?

"Best to do it now, while he's occupied. I never thought I'd see the day where the living dead would play with a rubber duck."

They'd thrown it back in. I threw it back out, it quacked wonderfully against someone's groin. Someone dunked my head under the water as punishment. I didn't like that. It wasn't as if I could drown, but it was still unpleasant to have a hand forcing you down into cold water.

"Hold him."

I was able to lift my head out of the water but strong arms grabbed my shoulders and I felt the familiar barrel of the gun sticking into the back of my head. The Woman placed her fingers under my chin and made me raise my head. She had a ugly pink toothbrush in her hand, covered with some sticky white, blue and red paste. There was no way that was going in my mouth. No way.

"MMMBFF!" That is horrid!

My teeth are covered in foam. I tried to bite the toothbrush but it did little good. She simply kept brushing and then made me swallow a lot of water and then spit it out again. At least it got rid of the taste. I made sure to spit it out in the direction of one of her henchmen. Suddenly she stopped and moved away, a white fluffy towel was handed to her. Does that mean I have to get out? ...I don't want to. I lay down until I was completely under the water. I could see her blurry moving face above me, looking confused but amused. The two men lifted me out and I was wrapped in the towel and patted down until I was dry enough. And then I was handed a white robe with a tie. Why can't I simply wear my old clothes?

"Sit." She ordered when I was dressed.

There was a chair in the middle of the room. I don't like this, but I like my head to much to risk a bullet. I do as I'm told and wait. One man kneels on the floor and takes my foot in his hand. He begins to clip and file down my nails. I move them away at once, but he takes back the foot. Even after kicking him in the face, he is as stubborn as a Mycroft. The lady, I think her name was Kate, she was the one with the gun, did the same to my fingernails. The less weapons the safer they feel, I suppose. I thought The Woman would simply stand and watch but she was now brushing my hair. As weird as everything was, and knowing I was a prisoner here, this was rather a pleasant experience.

Until she started to cut my hair. Startled I leapt up, my hands running themselves through my locks. I don't want to be bald! She laughed and told me to sit back down. Absolutely not. Not for all the rubber ducks in the world. Nor for all the coloured pencils and stuffed rabbits.

"Oh don't be like that. Your hair is far too long. It doesn't suit you, dear. All I am doing is cutting it in a style for you." A style? So it would...like better? Well, I suppose if that is all you are going to do. Did you just call me  _dear?_

I sat back down and tried not to wince whenever I heard the  _snip snip_  of the scissors cutting my beautiful hair. It was over remarkably quickly. She put the scissors down and examined my face. She was happy with whatever she found, even after I barred my teeth at her. She simply tugged my cheek and tutted. Then again, she clapped her hands. I am beginning to hate that sound. I swear she does it just to unnerve me. The Kate girl orders the two men to fetch something. So she is higher up the totem pole than they are? Interesting.

The men return with piles of clothing in different colours. I am made to stand as The Woman looks through them. She keeps saying no. Wrong size? How terrible. I could just wear my own things. If you hadn't have cut them into little pieces. But, I would have preferred the clothes I knew. I'd been wearing them for several years. They were a part of me. In some cases quite literally. Like with the socks. I thought they were my feet. But my feet weren't grey.

"The black is the right size, but not the right colour. Hmm.." She held the top against me. The clothing resembled some form of pyjamas. No...my mind supplies me with the word  _scrubs_. It's very helpful sometimes, my brain. It knows things I don't.

...That hurt my head.

She goes through green, white and orange scrubs before settling on a deep purple. These and a pair of white pants are handed to me. Well don't expect me to put them on! I could barely get my own off! The Woman sighs and waves her hands at her people. Who proceed to put the clothes on me. I make things very difficult for them until Kate ruins my fun. Finally I am dressed in dark purple scrubs. My feet feel weird.

They're naked.

I watch them wiggle. I didn't know toes could do that. But if fingers can, why not toes?

"Once you've stopped looking at your feet, perhaps you could look at the mirror?" Mirror?

I turn around and there is a full length mirror behind me. I..I look almost human. I mean the skin colour is horribly pale, and I still look like death walking, but my hair is perfect, my teeth are white. I look...good. Not the best word to describe my appearance. But the result was pleasing. Why had she even gone to all that trouble in the first place though? It seems over the top.

There was a tug on my leash and I fall backwards. The Woman rolled her eyes and pulled me up. The two men, honestly I can not remember their names. They don't deserve any. I shall call them Bob and Felix. Bob fastens the belt with the cuffs back around my waist. This is a cleaner version however. Black leather with shining silver chain and cuffs. The cuffs have soft wool inside, so not to cut into the skin. That's nice. I mean for such distasteful equipment.

"Are you done admiring yourself? I don't blame you. It's a pity you're dead. You're quite the looker. Now come on, it's best not to keep him waiting."

Him? Who? Is He the reason for all this?

There was another tug and I decided it was best to follow her.


	55. Chapter 55

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY ITS NOT GREAT.
> 
> It's taken so long because of writers block. And rushing to finish my other fic. 
> 
> Hope it's ok!

 

**SHERLOCK**

It was interesting to watch the mood of the room change from cheerful if a bit wary, to nervous with a touch of fear. Clearly whoever I was going to meet was no ordinary person. He inspired fear. Perhaps he was the one in charge. But why were they afraid of him? Did they worry he would fire them? Would he threw them to the mercy of my kind? What sort of person would that make him? If my speculating were proven true, that is. He may simply be intimidating.

The Woman adjusts my collar and smooths my hair before she opens the door. She dismissed her entourage and takes the leash in her hand, pulling me forward. The room is large and mostly empty except for the tables that lined the wall and a large wooden chair at the end of the room. It was occupied by a suited man with slicked back hair and devious eyes. He radiated power. Scar stood behind him, a rifle at his side. The man was resting his head against the side of the chair, listening to Scar's message. But he kept one eye on me as I entered the room. He waved his hand at the Woman and she sits down at one of the tables closest to the man in the chair. It's more like a throne. Is he their king?

He gestured for me to walk forward and I see Scar's rifle lift. No quick movements. Understood. The man stood, a red dot appearing on my shirt. It is streamed from a little torch on the top of the rifle. He will shoot me if I make the slightest movement. The man grinned as he circled me, examining every inch. He then puts two fingers beneath my chin and turns my head from side to side. I don't know what he is looking for. But I do not trust him. There is something about him that puts fear into my heart. He licks his lips before sitting back down.

"You are taller than I expected and leaner." Well...sorry?

"Your work Irene, as always, is impeccable." Irene? Is that  _her_  name?

"Thank you, I'm glad you approve." Is she flirting with him? But she fears him...

"I do not give compliments unless they are deserved. So my zombie friend, we finally meet." Do we? I didn't know you knew me. Should I be surprised?

"Sebastian has told me so much about you." I prefer my nicknames.. "He tells me you can speak. I know you were prevented from being able to before, I do apologise. You may speak now." May I? Thank you but I decline.

I stared at the floor examining it's stains. I hear fingers tapping on wood, the Man is getting impatient.

"Forgive me I haven't even introduced myself! I am James Moriarty, or Jim if you prefer." Jim. Am I supposed to be impressed? "And your name is?"

It is none of your business. But I can tell he is getting impatient. He looked at Scar and then at Irene. As if he blamed them. He shrugs and rises from his throne. He walked over towards me once more, his hands in his pockets. Jim cricks his neck before standing face to face with me. He placed his hands on my shoulders and smiled. It was the smile of a wild beast.

"I'm trying to be friendly. If you do not tell me your name I will give you one. I have to call you something after all. You are sentient, so you need a name." Do I tell him? The name he might chose could be embarrassing. Or boring. What harm is there in speaking?

"...Lock." I mumble. Jim's face erupts with a true smile.

"Lock! Hello Lock. Nice to meet you. There, that wasn't so hard. It's alright, I understand, you are just shy." Shy...I suppose that could be true. I think he has tricked me.

"Now, dear Lock. Sebastian has arranged for you to have your own room. And we will move you into it shortly. I only want to make sure it's perfect. I do apologise for your previous quarters, but you have to be careful with the living dead. You understand, don't you?" Not really. But he seems to require answers now that he knows I can speak.

"Yes."

"Good! You wait here with Sebby and we will be right back."

James...Jim? Or Moriarty. He leaves with the Woman to discuss my new living arrangements. Anything can be better than the one I just had. Scar left the dais to stand beside me, his eyes on the door but his gun pointing at my chest. I wish he wasn't so frightening or I might have struck up a conversation to pass the time.

Not really.

* * *

**IRENE**

The room is actually quite nice. Better than the previous ones. It has an unmade single bed, a desk with a wooden chair, a comfortable arm chair, a television and a chest at the end of the bed. There is also a built in wardrobe. It is up to me however to chose things for the room. Such as decorations, linen, books and so on. Not because I am a woman, I would slap him, leader or not, but because I'd already met the zombie and I knew what people liked. I choose dark blue sheets with a matching duvet, the same colour as his scarf. The books we compromised on. They covered a number of different topics, were both fictional and non fictional and were for various age groups.

We placed children's toys in the chest as well as puzzle games and a rubix cube. On the desk I left a pile of paper and bright coloured pencils. We had already emptied his bag and taken some of it's contents and placed them around the room. So he would feel at home. The finishing touch was the blue rabbit on his pillow. A grown man, or zombie, with a soft toy as his only comfort for someone reason made me sad. But it made sense in a way. Jim was of the belief that they had adult brains but their experiences were only those from the time they were turned into zombies, till now. So if he had been a zombie for five years, he was in part, still a child. But also a stubborn adult.

"Do you approve?"

"Of course Jim. It's perfect. When does he move in?"

"Tonight."

I hope he likes it. Though I still worry about what Jim might plan to do with him. Lock grows on you and I'd only known him for a short while.

Good luck.

* * *

**I'll describe the room better in the next chapter. But it's small.**

**Laterz**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll describe the room better in the next chapter. But it's small.
> 
> Laterz


	56. Chapter 56

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOT PERFECT BUT HOPEFULLY THE NEXT ONE WILL BE.
> 
> I hate filler chapters. Idk how you will visulise the room. I'm always curious how people see things that are described in fics and books. How do you imagine Lock? Or the safe houses? How do you see Gladstone or Lock's drawings? What do you imagine when you hear about the compound or Moriarty's lair?
> 
> I'm curious!
> 
> Enjoy.
> 
> Or not.
> 
> You know the drill.

**IRENE**

We made one last change before we headed back to our little zombie. Admittedly the last change did take several hours but I feel those hours will be worth it, if Jim is serious about making the zombie feel at home. While I know what he has done in the past, he has never encountered a zombie as far along as Lock. So I do not feel as worried that he may simply discard the poor thing or put him out of his misery. If he tries, I may just have to spirit Lock away from his clutches somehow.

We returned to Sebastian and Lock, the former sitting in a chair watching the zombie and drinking a glass of lemonade. The latter was sitting cross-legged on the floor, looking up at the ceiling. Jim clapped his hands in excitement, making both Moran and the zombie jump in alarm. Sebastian hid it better of course. But I'm not sure if our zombie likes loud and sudden noises. Moran stood, finishing his drink and returning to his position behind Moriarty's 'throne'. Lock struggled to get to his feet, I offer to help him but Jim waves a hand in that dismissive way of his. Lock makes two more attempts before finally righting himself.

"We do apologise for taking so long." Jim said with a smile. "I hope you weren't bored."

Moran gruffly replies no. Lock looks at the floor for a moment or two before replying.

"No."

"Excellent! Would you like to move in now?" The zombie slowly raises his head and you can see how curious his eyes have become.

Lock bites his lip before nodding. It's not like he has a choice in the matter.

"Good. Follow me."

I do hope he likes it. Jim might not care but I do.

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

They take me down a long corridor, which has cliché flickering light globes. Moriarty removes a key from his pocket, punches a 6 digit code into a keypad and then uses the actual key to open the door. He's taken extra precautions. But this place is probably impossible to escape from. The door opens and I prepare myself to greet my new room. Once the door was opened, I was pushed in and my restraints were removed. I may be here awhile, so hopefully it's not too horrible

And it...it's actually not that bad.

It's a decent size for a bedroom. There's a dark wooden desk against the wall, covered with new pencils and what I suspect are empty sketchbooks. Above it, on the actual wall is a bulletin board. Here my photos and existing drawings are already displayed. They must have taken then from my bag. There is no bed against the other wall, but...a bathtub. How did they know? I examine it, finding a small mattress at the bottom and two light orange sheets. The duvet is yellow with a pattern of honeycombs. There is a large square pillow on top, with Bluebell my rabbit and a chocolate-brown teddy bear with a red bow tie.

It looks very comfortable. But I'm supposed to resent being here.

At the end of it is a small wooden chest. It's empty, but it has it's own key. I can put whatever I want inside. There are many objects, both that belong to me and that seem to be new, dotted around the room. I find many inside the desk's drawers. Toy's and other objects that must have some sort of purpose are nestled inside with more paper and drawing implements. This is no doubt what the chest is there for. On another wall there is a very small chest of drawers, opposite the bath-bed. Inside one of the drawers are more white briefs. Another holds plain black socks and white socks. How boring. I don't bother to check the other two. Two doors are waiting next to the drawers, one turned out to be a built-in wardrobe, very small. Two sets of purple scrubs hung on hangers, there was also one set of black scrubs and one set of white ones. There was nothing else except a small set of shelves. Here there were books, both advanced, intermediate and children's books.

On one shelf is my movie player.

The other door leads to a bathroom. The toilet is not needed, but there is another bath, not as nice as the one in the bedroom, and a shower head is positioned above it. It might be nice to have a bath again.

I return to the bedroom, it is then I noticed the fake window. It has yellow curtains and appears to be an ordinary window pane. But we are underground so it can not be real. There is a small remote in front of its ledge, on which are several potted plants of various colours. The remote's buttons change the image to a variety of views as well as turning the image from day to night. I end up choosing a familiar cityscape at night.

I hear a cough behind me. I'd almost forgotten I wasn't alone.

"I take it that it meets with your approval?" Did he expect me to answer, if even if I disliked the room. Which I should. I mumble a yes and he gives me another uncomfortable smile.

"I'll leave you to it then. There are pajamas I've been told in one of the drawers and we will be bringing you a few new things tomorrow. Have fun, my dear!"

The door is pulled shut and locked. It's solid and impenetrable, can only be opened from the outside. I sigh to myself and decided to test out the bath-bed. It is longer than the one I had at home, but I would still have to curl up. I placed Bluebell in my lap and glare at the bear, throwing it over the side. I don't look at anything except the drawers, its all supposed to make me feel at home, make me comfortable. As if I will forget that I am simply their prisoner. I can't even look at the photos on the board. Because they contain John. John who doesn't care anymore, who does not want to be my friend. John who is hopefully back home and happy.

He does not miss me. Why would he?

I find the light switch and press it gently. Now the only light comes from the fake window. I curl under the covers and wonder if I will sleep tonight. I hope I don't, it's worrying to wake up. Because you never know what you might find. At least awake you can prepare yourself, you can be aware of your surrondings. And in dreams, your mind plays tricks on you. They break your head in a million different ways. I have no experienced this, but I have learnt enough now from movies and tv shows.

Dreams are dangerous things. The dead should not have them. They are already living a nightmare.

For what feels like the hundredth time, I wish I was home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I PROMISE IT WILL GET BETTER! before it gets worse... He's just being a bit mopey and sorry for himself.


	57. Chapter 57

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short sorry. I have more written down but I want to leave it here.
> 
> Um.. so next few chapters we jump away from Lock and over to the other characters in this story. What are they doing? Will they be angry? Will Mycroft throw John out? Does Molly have enough cats? Has anyone told Mrs Hudson anything?
> 
> Stay tuned!

**JOHN**

I am lucky.

I am lucky, I made it back alive. Not many people can lay claim to that feat. The usual checks and clearances have to be carried out after I arrive and they're sure I'm not dead. Because it's been so long, I'm immediately sent down to Quarantine. It stinks. I can't tell exactly what the smell is. It's a mixture of many stenches, rolling into one Superstench. That kind that makes you choke when you draw breath while it simultaneously punches you in the nose. It wasn't the sort you eventually got used too. That was why every doctor and nurse wore a mask.

I am given every test they can think of. Many are the same ones I received the day I first arrived. Straight from war, but still naive enough to think I could make a difference.

"Name." A voice rips through my thoughts.

"You know my name, Hans. I've already told three other people."

"Sorry, Joh-...Sir. Standard procedure." He returned to his clipboard. He's full of rules, is Hans. He'd marry them if he could. Rules make the world go round, he'd say.

They bloody don't.

"John Hamish Watson."

"Thank you. That wasn't so hard, now was it? We have to wait for those tests results though."

Time was you could get them back in an instant. Not here, not anymore. I could be waiting all day and the next.

I lied on most of the questions.  _Have you had an encounter with The Living Dead prior to **returning** /arriving?_ Yes.  _Were you **touched/grabbed** /bitten/other?_ Yes.

There were many more, but I didn't feel particularly bad about the lying. I knew that Mr Holmes would probably, hopefully sort things out. Before kicking me back out. If he had that sort of power.

Because I'm unlucky.

I left behind a friend.

* * *

It's interesting the things you miss when you've been away. The constant flickering of the outside lamp near my window. The pitter-patter of the raindrops hitting the steel tins that lined the alley by our flat. And the smells of course. My flat smelled liked old cigar smoke, mouldy carpets and oranges. That last one was because of Rory. He loved oranges. Orange juice, orange tea, orange flavoured chocolate. If it had oranges in it, he probably liked it. I was surprised he'd made it back alive. But he usually does. I won't have to miss his snoring.

The smell outside my window is always whats left after the rain visits and sheds it's load on the world. And the smell of garbage combined with the hen's that lived around the corner and their leavings. Horrible stinks when you think about it. But it was home. It was familiar.

There were less people in our flat now. So the bunk beds had been removed while I was away. We now had our own beds, single ones and larger personal areas of space. I wanted to add a desk, a small one in black or dark chocolate wood. It would cost a lot, but I'd seen one in a charity store two blocks down. I could probably afford it in a week or two. Though theres a larger living area now, I'm not sure if it could be considered much of an improvement.

I'd been tempted to search out the others after I arrived. Not that I even knew their addresses. I could easily look them up or ask. I could, but I won't.

I'm a coward.

I tell myself I shouldn't be. I had every right to leave, to be angry. But then the loneliness sets in and my anger slinked away. I remember his face, how sad it was and I imagine how sad it must have been when he realised I left. I miss him. He smelt like boots and old houses and dust.

But he never smelt like the dead.

* * *

**GLADSTONE**

It was wet. Actually that was an understement. Which is a big word even the lonely walker probably does not know. The world was also very noisy. It was affronting to my ears. The empty walkers went about their business which is little more than groaning at things. It was hard to avoid them, but of course I managed. I found my way to an empty house and made myself at home. There was live food and a warm chair. But no one to stroke my fur and tell me what a good boy I am.

I am a very good boy.

Although it is safe here, it's very cold. I miss the blonde human's, the John, hands stroking me in all the right places and letting me sleep on his lap. It made the empty walker, the Locked one, very jealous. I even miss him, with all his hatred and envy. He never liked me, such things you can taste. You seek these people out to annoy. It's usually very fun, but quite mean. But the Locked one is still a walker, if an emotional one. There is much a cat could teach him. Like hygiene for a start.

I do not know what happened to the John. He left in the night. I tried to follow but I am no dog, I do not follow scent trails. The Locked one tried to abandon me but eventually, allowed me to follow. I even allowed him to hold me. But he was cold. And he was shivering. I could taste his confusion and fear. And then he disappeared.

If I could follow one or the other I would. I am a young cat, I am not more than four. But it would beyond me to follow. The John was angry and the Locked one was frightened.

I hope they find each other. Or things might be frightfully boring without them.

I think I will head next to the house the walker called home. There are lovely spiders, and mice downstairs. There may even be food left behind. Plus two comfortable beds, a couch and chairs. What more could a cat ask for?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...
> 
> That was kinda practice for the cat's point of view in the Stars Series. Milton the kitten. I want to do a little spin off for him, if I can draw. You can choose to believe it or ignore it.
> 
> And if you like it, he may return. I know some of you were worried..


	58. Chapter 58

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Filler! I think we will see either Molly or Mycroft next. Unless you want to see anyone in particular?
> 
> Do you want to see Gladstone again?
> 
> See the end of the chapter for more notes.
> 
> Enjoy.

**Drawn by the amazing garrulousgibberish. You may know them as the author of Rats In The System.**

* * *

**JOHN**

Around five in the afternoon I heard a knock at my door. We so rarely receive visitors here. And I had just returned from a long grueling shift, so I couldn't think of anyone it might be. The others all have their own keycards. But it was Lestrade. I hadn't seen him since I'd returned, choosing to believe he was either too busy or avoiding me. He dropped a cigarette butt on the ground and stamped it out.

"Hello, John." He said.

"Hello." I replied and closed the door.

Lestrade stepped inside the small living room, without a word. He found himself a seat and leaned back.

"Nice house." Polite pleasantries. The house needed so many repairs.

I sit opposite him, waiting for the inevitable onslaught of yelling and insults that were sure to come my way. But there was only silence. I then realise something.

He knows.

* * *

"It's alright, John."

"It's not. He killed my friend." He killed him, tore at him, ate his brain. Oh god.

"I know." He didn't but he understood. Everyone has lost someone to the undead.

"I had to leave, I just couldn't.." My anger was seething now, but it was still at war with my loneliness.

"You don't have to defend yourself to me. I only wondered, you came back earlier than planned. I wanted to make sure everything was alright and I see now it isn't."

"Well you were right." Things aren't alright, not by a long shot.

"I know. I hope though, that he headed back to Baker Street. Mycroft installed cameras there at some point. Maybe we'll see him again some day." I hear the worry in his voice. I know he feels as I do. We both don't like the idea of him wandering around on his own, never returning to his home. Though I don't know why I should worry, he did something I can't forgive and he's just a zombie. They wander all the time. Why should I care?

"Maybe."

My loneliness was winning.

"I'm here if you need me, John."

I try to change the subject.

"How did Mrs Hudson take things?" I had only heard about her in passing, I really should visit.

"Well, considering. She was pleased he wasn't like.. most of the undead. But it made her sad, some of the things we told her. You have to understand, he's so different now. I always suspected he felt more than he let on. But he hid everything. Though, he was happy, John. I could tell."

Yeah...I know he was happy with me.

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

I have been here for two days. Despite my inital hatred of this room, I have slowly come to like it. It is so stimulating and educational. And fun. I have not yet dreamed again, but spent several hours at a time in the bed, looking at the picture books. My skill with reading is still not enough to read an entire book. I don't know all the letters. I was supposed to receive a 'gift' a few days ago but none arrived. Perhaps they have forgotten me. I doubt it would be something I would look forward too.

The pencils and other art supplies were helpful. I have draw several new things since I arrived. I drew Gladstone with a large, menacing frown. I drew blood. I drew my home. These and more were pinned to my bulletin board. I had barely started on another when there was a knock on the door and several people entered before I could say a word.

It was the one named Jim and the Woman, plus a few henchmen. The Woman held a large container in her hands and placed it on the desk in front of me. I didn't look inside. One of the men with a gun grabbed my collar and pushed me forward until I was eye to eye with Jim. Almost, he is a bit shorter. He reached forward, placing something around my neck and fastening it. It was another collar. It had a plush, soft inside and a dark leather outside. It was held together with a small silver lock. And there was a name tag. I could read it.

It said Lock.

What a horrible thing. But try as I might it was impossible to remove.

"I am sorry we have to do this, safety precautions and all that. Besides if we happen to lose you, a pick up point is engraved on the other side." He didn't look sorry. The Woman did.

"We brought over a few more things and I will be in to teach you the alphabet tomorrow. I understand you already know some of the letters." I don't want to learn it from  _you._

And with that, they left.

Good.

* * *

I tried to avoid looking in the box, spending my time trying to remove the collar. It was still impossible. But it wasn't uncomfortable like the others. I suppose that was one good thing. Finally my curiosity got the better of me and I looked inside. There were little wooden letters tied together, a large round clock that looked very old, a packet of glow in the dark stars and a string of paper lanterns in red and blue. I didn't know what to do with any of the items so I left them in their box and placed the box on the ground.

Except for the stars, those I removed. I assumed they were glow in the dark, the picture seemed to indicate such a thing. I opened it with difficulty and poured the contents on my desk. They were of varying sizes. I lifted the end of my shirt up and swept the stars into it. I stepped inside the bath-bed and neatly placed the stars in a pile on top of one of my pillows. Should I put them up around the bed? I do not think I can reach the ceiling, but perhaps if I made use of the desk chair.

I spent the next hour sticking the stars on the walls surrounding the bed and the ceiling above it. satisfied with my work I hit the light switch. The room became as dark as night but the stars glowed a beautiful pale blue.

I stretched myself out in the bath, as much as possible, and watched my handiwork glow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder what Lock will be like as a student to someone he dislikes. He should be excited to learn new things, but not from anyone here. Oh no. None of them are John.
> 
> And what will he dream of next?


	59. Chapter 59

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken so long. Been working on And The Stars Shone Brightly. It's finished now and there will be a third part in that series soon. For now though I want to focus on this fic and the fantasy AU one.
> 
> Enjoy.
> 
> I hope.

** MYCROFT **

It had not been a surprise to learn that John Watson had returned alone. It had been a foolish hope. Of course my brother would not return with him. He still held onto his fear and had I not tried to force him to come, he may have decided to on his own. I only hope he has returned to 221b. He has not yet appeared on the cameras. However a familiar man had, during the time John and my brother had left the flat to return the doctor to the compound. It had taken me some time to search through files and my memory, but I believe I have successfully identified this man as Sebastian Moran.

Last seen a few years ago when he left the compound. He left because he found nothing worth staying for behind those words. A pity, he was a wonderful soldier and sniper. He left with a small group of people, they had a conflict of interests and many disagreements with the way things were run. I can not say I blame them. Some of their ridiculous views have since been proven to be true. Most of us assumed they had died. But it seems at least the sniper has survived. Why 221b? Simply a coincidence? The universe is rarely so lazy. The man was a capable tracker in another life, a hunter of considerable skill.

I fear my brother may be in danger.

But it may not be so easy to find him this time.

* * *

** SHERLOCK **

I do not know how long I have been here. I suspect I have spent a week in this room. At least I have not been bored. There are films and shows on my player, The Woman has been in twice already to show me the rest of the letters of the alphabet. I resisted at first. She was not as good as John. But she did seem to know what to say or do to make me want to comply. My letters are now stuck to the wall, each one painted either by me or her. Hers are much neater. Now that I know the letters I sign every drawing with LOCK. My writing isn't perfect but at least I can sign my name. Months ago I would never have even thought I would be able to do such a thing.

I was watching a musical movie about an orphan when the door unlocked and opened. It was not the Woman, like I expected, but Moriarty, my so called "master". He was dressed in a blood-red suit with a matching shirt and lighter tie. He looked tired, as if he had just woken up. He pulled out my desk chair and sat down. I paid him no attention, continuing to watch the movie and wondering why everyone felt the need to sing. Very strange. Out of the corner of my eye I see Moriarty lean back and pick up the Polaroid camera from the desk, examining it. Why was he here? Not to let me go. To torment me? That seems more his style. I've barely met the man and even I can deduce that.

He plays with the camera, taking two photographs before resting it in his lap. He smiles and it's like looking into the face of a bonie. There's nothing sincere behind the smile. He is the predator and I am his pray. But he would prefer I thought of him as a caretaker. He asks me how I am, as if he does not know. Do I like my quarters, am I behaving? Do I enjoy learning how to read and write? I do not answer most of these questions, preferring to ignore him. He does not care. He speaks in a soft, quiet voice that I have to slip off one half of the headphones to hear him. I can not help my curiosity. It will be the death of me.

Again.

Moriarty takes this chance to snatch the player and headphones from me and place them on the desk. "Don't fret, my pet. You'll get them back. I just want to talk and you're being awfully rude."

I am not his pet. I say as much and he laughs. "It's merely a term on endearment, darling. Now, I have some more questions to ask you. No small talk this time, I promise."

I say nothing and stare ahead. I pretend the small chest of drawers in front of me is suddenly very interesting.

"Now, I haven't asked you this yet, but I was wondering why you call yourself Lock. Most zombies, even those smarter than their...lets say species, don't name themselves." I feel somewhat proud. I can not help it. I feel pride that I am different, better at something.

"Lock?" I suppose I must answer. He will only hound me if I do not.

"First t-thing. I remem.." I really do hate that word. "I memory. First thing." One day I will master a proper sentence.

"Ah. Interesting. Just..the word, Lock?" I nod. I won't tell him I now know my original name. Lock is my name now. The old me does not matter.

"And do you know how long you have been...undead?" He smiles again, trying to be so polite. I want to stuff his politeness somewhere very private.

"F-four...no. Five."

"Years?" No hours. Of course years!

"So not long after it started. Now I've seen pictures of your home, Lock. It's very interesting. What does that place mean to you?"

I shrug. "Home."

"Perhaps I didn't phrase it correctly. Why that flat?" I don't know. I used to live there.

I shrugged again and he tuts. He calls me a shrugger. I responded by shrugging again.

"You collected all sorts of things, Lock. Why?" I have often wondered that myself. I've never come up with an answer that I approve of.

"Because. Inter-r-resting. Want, I want find out." This is embarrassing. See this is why I don't speak. If I could flush from embarrassment I'd be entirely red.

Thankfully I think he understood. He picked up the player and headphones and put them back in my lap. "That's all for now. Thank you, Lock. Good afternoon."

He left with a thoughtful look on his face. I don't like it. He is up to something, it's obvious of course, but what he is up to, I don't know. It frightens me. I try and shake away the uncomfortable feelings and continue my movie.

But half my mind is still thinking about Moriarty.

* * *

** MORAN **

He certainly took his time, conversing with the creature. I told him it was risky, to have a one on one with it. Without support or backup. But it looks like both he and Irene Adler have figured out it's personality correctly. The monitor showed him, it, unwilling to respond at first. And only doing so after it's 'toy' was taken from him. It's a pity, what Jim has planned. This one is like a child. It's probably for the best. Can't be an enjoyable existence being a zombie. 

"That went quite well, don't you think?" Jim strode in, shoeing me out of his desk chair.

"I suppose."

"Suppose? You didn't listen did you? Naughty. You're lucky I only keep you around for your marksmanship and good looks." I bristle but don't rise to the bait.

"It's really none of my business. My job is, as you say, my marksmanship." My good looks are simply a bonus. 

"Well, it's your loss. But I learned rather a lot. I think we will leave him alone for now. I want to see him progress a bit further. I want to see him learn to read. How much can he learn? But he also must learn discipline. That is where you come in."

Teaching discipline to a zombie? Not an easy task. Not an enjoyable one either. "I'd rather not. If you don't mind."

"I do. He must learn to respect authority. I know he's capable of it. Befriend him. Punish him, I don't care what. Just teach him. You and Irene are his teachers."

"Is it wise, to teach him?" Better he remain ignorant. 

"Call it scientific curiosity if you prefer. But yes. I must know how much they are capable of learning."

A wave of his hand and I am dismissed. I close the door behind me and head back to my quarters. 

I am to be a teacher to a stubborn zombie.

Words can not contain my joy.

I hate my job.


	60. Chapter 60

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO!
> 
> Sorry for taking so long, hope you are all well! Some news um... I have a kitten! Her name is Pippa and will hopefully inspire some of Miltons antics in my other fic (when i start it.) ANYWAY, so theres that, I sold some stuff at my first big con, which was wonderful! We have a Sherlock con coming up and I have to design several things, make things, make costumes! And then I'll be Bilbo again for our imitation Comic Con! Also I am learning to knit!
> 
> I hope this is ok, it's not perfect, my writers block has been pretty bad, despite having resolved a few problems with the story which will make it angsty but Ill keep trying to add some humour into it! 
> 
> Um, please enjoy?

* * *

**SHERLOCK  
**

_I was falling._

_I was falling from a great height and into a pool of water. As I began to sink to the bottom, a figure came into my field of vision. A wavering, rippling, John. As I fell I watched him cross his arms, turn around and leave. He didn't try to save me. He didn't see the point. I landed on the bottom of the pool with a thump. I panicked, I couldn't breathe and then I realised I didn't need too. I was dead after all. I tried to propel myself upwards only sink back down. It was a pointless exercise._

_I was doomed to stay at the bottom of this lake forever._

_I screamed._

* * *

_A face filled with malice and manic joy raised a knife and thrust it into my chest!_

_I screamed._

* * *

_I was at the end of a long, empty street. All the houses were abandoned, all the shop windows broken. Everything was in shades of grey. And then a figure appeared, only his back was visible. Blonde hair, a horrendous jumper and blue jeans. He continued walking, I called his name but he wouldn't turn around. Every time I got close to him he would speed up._

_Why? Why was he ignoring me?_

_I sped up and grabbed his shoulder, turning him around. Except...his back was still facing me._

_There was no front, John's face did not exist!_

_And I fell to my knees and cried._

* * *

I awoke with a start. In the past weeks I had begun to dream again. Only once a week so far, and very few were pleasant. "The Master", as Moran insists on me calling him, wishes me to start a dream journal. However I can't fully write down everything that happens. An example would be:

So most pages simply are pretty pathetic, just a couple of drawings and a few short words scrawled on them but he acts like I've written a best selling novel. Making mountains out of mole hills, though I admit, I do not quite understand that particular metaphor. But it sounds smart. After the first dream occurred, he began attaching cords and wires onto various parts of my body at night. It made resting very difficult, I had to be restrained because I would constantly pull them off.

One thing I have noticed however is dreams tend to follow real life concerns and problems. My feelings and worries about John are often a theme of my nightmares, where he leaves me or abuses me physically or verbally. Moriarty is also a theme and in his dreams are the only time I feel pain. If that is what it feels like, it is a horrendous thing and I do not understand how humans can live with it. I wake up shaking sometimes, but I am not cold. I can only conclude that it is fear.

But I shouldn't dwell do much on these, they are mere products of my imagination.

During these past few weeks I have endured exercise programs, humiliation and knitting. The Woman attempted to teach me, and will continue to force me to practice for at least the next two weeks. I only succeeded in tying my hands and fingers together with bright pink wool. Wool that clings to everything and I am still finding strands of it on the floor. I have a small wool mountain on my desk. The needles were confiscated. It no doubt says something about my blossoming personality that learning to knit is worse than the humiliation involved when having several people examine you naked, poking you to the point you want to bite their hands off and having to run on the spot for fifteen minutes then chase a rabbit carcase around a room.

I at least managed a good sulk afterwards.

Moran has also continued to discipline me for misbehaviour. It can be anything from hitting me with the sheath of a sword or just a cane, dunking me underwater, pulling my hair or putting me in a time out. The hitting does nothing really except to distract me or surprise me. Dunking me underwater is again pointless, I collect enough water to later spit it out in his face which usually means another punishment. Strangely enough pulling my hair does make me stop in my tracks. Much like grabbing the fur on the neck of a cat will render them frozen. Perhaps I have sensitive follicles? Time out consists of my hands being chained behind my back and for me to kneel in a corner with a dunces cap.

I used to think Moran was nicer than the other henchmen in this disgusting basement of doom, clearly I misjudged him. He is obviously a terrible, humorless man, much like everyone else here. The Woman is probably the only exception.

* * *

**JOHN**

The meeting with Mycroft Holmes was long overdue. I had simply believed that he'd forgotten me, I did say that Lock may not return with me. But I still expected some sort of reaction, a phone call, a letter. Anything really. So opening to the door to find to black suited men in front of a small, but luxurious looking car was a complete surprise. Few people used cars anymore. But I suppose turning up on a bike wouldn't be nearly as intimidating. We drove only a small distance, stopping in front of a gated building. I was given a visitors card and ushered towards a black, imposing door.

"We wait here. He has his own bodyguard inside." Are things that dangerous for him? Even in here?

Behind the door was a dimly lit hallway, a small table stood against the wall, a vase, a newspaper and a stack of letters rested on the smooth dark wood. The hallways only other decorations were what looked to be family photos. A younger looking Mycroft sitting with a man that must have been his father. A curly haired toddler being cuddled by his mother. A small red-headed boy holding a baby on his lap, the child had just a wisp of black curls. Another showed all four members together in traditional portrait. There were others but these stood out to me the most.

Everyone looked so happy.

"Ah, welcome Doctor Watson." I turned to discover Mycroft, wearing a green, velvet dressing gown.

"Mr Holmes." He gestured for me to follow him into a sitting room. A large fireplace filled the room with a deliciously toasty warmth. I shed my coat and scarf and sat down in one of the armchairs in front of the fire.

"I am glad you have come. I wanted to discuss something with you." Is he going to ask me to go back and find Lock? No, even he must realise Lock made his decision.

"Of course, please go ahead." Don't bite my head off though.

"It did not escape my notice that ...Lock didn't return with you. I suspected that he mightn't. So I upped the surveillance I had installed. Unfortunately, he has still not returned to Baker Street. I was curious as to where you two parted, so I can try and determine what has happened to him or where he is?"

He hasn't returned home? But that doesn't make sense. Where else would he go? I thought he would just go straight back to 221b but apparently not. Unless...shit I hope the bonies didn't do anything to him. They wouldn't, they're zombies too aren't they? Shit. Where did you go, Lock? Are you ok? I know I shouldn't worry, I'm still supposed to be angry at you but I wouldn't want anything bad to happen to you.

"We parted ways at one of the safe houses. If you have a map I can show you." Mycroft stood, unfolding a map that had been sitting on the small desk in the corner.

"Here." I pointed to the last place I'd seen Lock.

"I see. I shall endeavour to discover if any of the cameras in that area are still functional. If not, I am unsure on how to proceed."  _He's_  unsure? Wow he must be conflicted.

"Proceed?"

"Do I sent out a search party and risk human lives? Or do I leave him be and possibly come to harm? It is a decision I have made in the past, with unpleasant outcomes." He poured himself a glass of brandy and took a sip.

"I'm sure he's fine, Mycroft. Maybe he got lost?" It's entirely possible. We don't have to jump to conclusions here.

"That is one possibility." He seemed to want to say more but held his tongue. "You are dismissed, Doctor Watson, thank you for your help."

There is more to this, I thought I led out the door and into the waiting hands of his men outside. But what is it? What does he know? And why is he keeping it from me? From us?

* * *

**MYCROFT**

It would have done him no good for me to tell him my suspicions. It was easy to deduce from his manner and discomfort that my brother and Doctor Watson did not part on the best of terms. Yet I sense he still cares for him. Telling him about Moran would only have worried him. I need more date before I decide whether to act or not. If Moran indeed poses a threat to Sherlock I will do what is within my power to save him. If he is safe, I will leave him alone for now.

I cannot make bricks without clay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry for the poorly done drawing. I promise my drawing and writing skills are better than Lock's...


	61. Chapter 61

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a lackluster chapter and for taking so long again! It''s just been taking too long to get this where I want it to push forward the plot Dx. Also apologies for nay typos or missing letters my keyboard has been playing up badly.
> 
> Well.. enjoy.
> 
> I hope.

**SHERLOCK**

Sometimes life doesn't turn out the way you planned. Or it surprises you in unexpected ways. And then sometimes you don't have a life, only a never ending, and to be honest frequently boring, death. But what if you don't remember what you'd wished from your life or from your future? Does it mean you have nothing to disappoint you? Nothing to fear? Should I really be concerned that my previous self may have been a bastard or a loner? And may indeed have continued to be so? Or would he have changed, grown and learned as an individual had he not died? And what would have happened had I never met John? I probably would have continued my monotonous life, or perhaps I too might have grown as an individual for entirely different reasons.

I tell myself it's pointless to worry about these questions. They serve no useful purpose. But sometimes they eat away at my mind. The what ifs and never weres or the could have beens. The future is a frightening thing when you have no past to steer you through life's problems. It's probably why family or friendship is important. They can help you if you have no life experience to draw from. No that is preposterous. It shouldn't be important, they only cause you pain or anguish. You miss them too much when they're gone and not enough when they're around.

John was a teacher and a friend, I let him down. I was born to be a loner and I am one even in death. Nothing has changed, the future is set. The ripples make no difference.

* * *

I have had no new dreams recently, much to my "master's" frustration. He continues his high-tech tests with giant machines that examine everything from my outside to my inside. Or with tiny cameras that invade the body. Sometimes the results make him happy. He spins in circles, grabbing the person next to him and making them join him. Other times, he throws things until the shatter in that most satisfying way. Except when things aren't things at all but people, or ex-people.

 _Oh_...I rather like that.

An ex-person.

The Woman has since given up on trying to teach me after I feigned everything from stupidity, deafness, ignorance or I simply ignored her in favour of my moving pictures and television shows. Or the remarkable device that holds hundreds of songs inside of it. Moran the Moron all but gave up his attempts to discipline me. The only method that seems to work so far is to take away everything interesting from my room and put it in a locked box. However I have since acquired the key so it will be interesting to see what happens should he try this again.

However it may lead to a harsher punishment...

* * *

In the moving pictures, if one is in this situation, at some point they are rescued. Except in horror movies of course. So many of those are ridiculous though and do not bear thinking about. If I were in one I would hope it would be around this point that someone would come dashing through the hall, fling open my door and pull me to safety. Or I would have a miraculous, amazing escape and run off into the sunset. Unfortunately this is reality. And these scenarios are unlikely to ever occur. Escape is impossible. I've tried.

And there is no one coming to rescue me.

Sigh.

* * *

Well this is boring.

* * *

The "Master" had me measured for a new outfit this morning. Or evening...there's no indication of time here. Apart from the clocks...which I can't read. Probably not that important. The fabric chosen was a mixture of purples, reds and blacks. Whatever he's making I don't think he's decided on a colour. I have a feeling it may be very flamboyant, there are tassels and bright buttons and even a few hats. Or perhaps he just enjoys playing dress up. He would be the sort...

He has this gleeful sort of look in his eyes sometimes, like a child waiting to open his christmas presents. His hands constantly fidgeting when they aren't poking or prodding me. He's mad. Completely and utterly. I mean... sometimes he passes for sane and sometimes I wonder what if he is? And the madness is just an act? But he revels in it, he has nothing to fear after all. No consequences. He's top dog here, at the end of the world and everyone else just better listen if they want to live. He's a nutter and he's so very clever, he rules by fear and common hatred of the unknown and the different.

And it works. It's not about money, his people I'm sure get paid, but it's more about survival. Survival of the smartest.

Argh, my mind runs away with me sometimes and I tend to ramble. I can only imagine what it must have been when I was alive. It must have been awful! If only I got sleep, shut down for a few hours. But it hasn't been working. Either I'm doing something wrong or I'm going backwards. Is that possible? Am I reverting? Now there's a terrifying thought.

* * *

**MYCROFT**

I have upgraded the situation to a Code Red: priority Ultra. It has become clear that since my brother has still not returned home to Baker Street, that my inital concerns were correct. I have taken it upon myself to devise five different plans. Almost all involve returning to the "scene of the crime" and searching for my brother. I did leave several tracking devises in Baker Street but not seem to have been of any use. One did work and was taken by my brother for a short time. It ws hidden in his coat pocket but it seems to have been removed. The trail ends in an empty alley not far from 221b.

Either he knew it was there and removed it, or someone else did.

* * *

**MORIARTY**

It hasn't improved in recent weeks, has no progressed. I'm beginning to grow bored with my pet. What does the good doctor Seb has told me so much about, have that I'm lacking? Or maybe I'm just lacking the good doctor? No, it would be a waste of time and effort trying to retrieve him. Word has it that he's returned to the compound anyway. Good riddance I say. No, my prospective buyers are getting impatient. He's progressed far enough already and I'm close to having learned all I needed to about the workings of his mind and others like him.

I'll give it a few more days. Let it have some fun. Then we'll start. And about time too, I'm eager to get going.

Oh...this is going to be brilliant!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise his rambling is important ok.


	62. Chapter 62

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> I'm sorry it's been so long, I found it difficult to continue and went to work on other fics. And then I lost someone close to me and it made it even harder. I don't want to leave this unfinished. I finished to fics longer than this one before and am working on the third in that series, but I wanted to come back to this. Finally yesterday, Moriarty's muse surfaced and I could continue. I feel this will get darker, it is about zombies after all. But I want to keep some of the humour that was probably would attracted you in the first place.
> 
> I'm still after a beta and someone to bounce ideas off of, if any of you are still reading these and have experience please message me.
> 
> I'm a little rusty writing in first person but I hope you like it.
> 
> P.S. Why did no one tell me I could make a John Lock joke out of their names?

                                                                                               

**Wanted to share a new graphic with you.**

* * *

 

**MORIARTY**

He's a sad looking thing, not that he'd been a picture of loveliness to begin with, but certainly now he looked pitiful. I'd taken a different approach recently, it's harder to torture a creature who's body will not heal and who feels no pain. Though I suspect the latter may be changing. I took no delight in my task, I just wanted to make sure there was nothing more to be learned from him, before I revealed my plans. He did deserve that at least, after all, he'd be the centrepiece, the leader.

He kept his head bowed, not that his restraints left much choice, perhaps it was out of respect. I think, however, it's more out of stubbornness. He refused to look at me. I imagine if he could, he'd spit in my face. I hung my legs over the side of the chair and gestured for dear Sebastian to bring him closer. Using a cane I gently lifted his chin, I didn't want to lose a hand and I knew he wouldn't bite this, though I think he was sorely tempted.

"Do you know why you're hear?" I smiled kindly at him, which he returned with a stony glare.

"No? Wonderful, this will be fun then. Sebby, the lights if you please!"

I'd prepared a presentation, a mock one of course, the real one will be much more detailed. Big pictures and words for this creature, nothing too complicated. He needs to understand. Things will go a lot smoother if I can get him on my side first. I leapt from my seat and turned on the projector. Oh, my body is shivering with delight. This is exciting!

"Tell me, Lockie, do you know why people keep secrets? I can see you don't. There's more than one reason but one of the biggies is fear. People are such fearful animals, you can almost smell it. Well, perhaps YOU can! People are afraid of being rejected, of getting into trouble. Afraid of doing the wrong thing or even the right thing. So they keep secrets. And some of these get out of their hands and into the right hands. Or in my case the wrong ones."

I've caught his interest now, though he tries to disguise it. Curious little monster. Well I won't keep you waiting.

"The other big reason is love. And the reason I'm telling you about secrets is because I have a few large ones. Would you like to hear them?" Again those fiery eyes, so much more alive when he has something to hate. I like to thing I taught him that. Hatred is good, it's passionate.

"You see the thing is, I've always been a bit of a fan. Of who, you ask. Of Sherlock Holmes. You don't remember but you solved many interesting cases prior to the end of the world. Some of which were my doing. Of course you were on the side of the angels. But angels can fall, I was tempted many times to try and contact you. But I left it too late." I paced in front of him, watching his every reaction. Confusion mostly, it's such a pity his memory remains locked away.

"So imagine my delight on finding out that the zombie my Seb has been tracking is none other than the former Sherlock Holmes! Unfortunately you're lacking in a few IQ points but still brilliant. You wouldn't be in this state, I think, if you weren't."

I returned to the projector, admiring the large logo in the centre. I had tried creating one of my own but it wasn't very good. Seb on the other hand has a creative flair I never knew. One of his few secrets, I thought I knew them all. It was simple but effective. A bloody handprint over a black diamond, contained in a white circle. Of course it was bordered in black. I rather liked it, a perfect logo for an army of the dead.

"Do you like it? It's my other secret, and it's why you're here."

* * *

**JOHN**

I knew something was up when I was summoned in the early hours of the morning. Cars are a rarity within the compound but there was already one waiting outside. I was taken to an unfamiliar building and left to my own devices.

My surroundings are old and opulent. The chairs have seen better days but they are plush and red. The room isn't empty but it's as silent as a tomb. I'm nervous, though I'm not sure why. But the longer I wait the worse it gets.

"Doctor Watson?" A blonde woman in faded scrubs appears at the door. "He's ready to see you now."

She doesn't look like a receptionist but perhaps this is a second job. More and more people were doing so, there wasn't enough people to cover every single one. My question is answered as I follow her down the hallway, a figure in an expensive suit is resting against the wall, blood coats his pant leg. As we pass him, the woman points to a door and then leaves to return to her work. She didn't seem to envy me in the least.

Which means my suspicions were confirmed. Mycroft Holmes had summoned me. But why here? This was a council building. Those that ran our little 'haven' spent most of their time holed up in it's many rooms. Perhaps that man in the hallway was one of them. The door ahead of me was ajar, I could Mycroft's voice quietly explaining something over the phone.

"No, you listen this is happening whether you like it or not. It's of the utmost importance that he is retrieved. No it's not just for personal reasons. This could have implications that might change everything. No...you are..."  _Retrieve who? Could he mean Lock?_

"...Prick." The insult was almost a whisper but the last thing I expected to hear coming from Mycroft's mouth. It was good to know he was human like the rest of us.

"You can come in now Doctor Watson." Caught. Time to face the music, Watson.

"Mr Holmes."

"Mycroft is preferable, under the circumstances. Do sit down." I almost refused, just to make things difficult, I didn't appreciated being kidnapped from my own home.

"Tea?"

"No I'm fine, thanks."

"Down to business then." He rested his hands in his lap, his face grave. "It has come to my attention that...my brother has disappeared. Now before you respond, please listen. He has not returned to Baker street, I had hoped in time he would, but I have reason to believe he is no longer in London. The last time we spoke, I expressed my concerns and they have been confirmed." He removed a folder from his desk. Lock is missing? I knew he hadn't returned from our last meeting, but still? 221B was Lock's home, it was where he felt safest. Something twisted in my chest, the folder contained evidence, proof that something had happened. Why else would Mycroft want to show it to him?

"We managed to get some of the older and less reliable cameras online. They were damaged during the early days but we could at least get some images from them. This was taken some time after you parted. Perhaps a week, maybe more." The photo was grainy, the date and time obscured but it showed someone wrapping rope around a struggling figure. A figure with a shock of curly hair and a long coat. It was definitely Lock. Oh mate, I'm sorry, I should have been there.

"The identity of these men can't be confirmed, but from what I can deduce, my brother was kidnapped by these people and their intentions can't be good. This man has been sighted in other areas of London prior to this incident. The living rarely go so close to the centre of the city, unless they are on a official mission, as you were. I believe he has been watching Sh-...Lock." These images were clearer, though the man's face was shadowed in several of them. Something niggled at the back of my mind. Did I know him? There was something about the way he held his cigarette.

"I have suspicions, which I can't share with you at this time, the security of the compound would be at risk, but I have spoken to my colleagues and superiors, they agree with my assessment, but not as you may have heard, with my solution. I have to find him, John. I can not lose him again. I know you have been at odds with him, but will you help me?"

He looked so desperate, I was finally taking in his appearance. The suit jacket was rumpled and his hair was ever so slightly out of place. And he was wearing odd socks. He had bags under his eyes and was that a bottle of wine on the desk? Half empty? He really was human, he was practically begging.

Could I refuse? What would he do if I did? Probably throw me in a deep dark pit and close the lid. Or kick me out of the compound. Or maybe nothing at all. But looking at him and at the photo of a terrified Lock, I knew I'd already made my choice.


	63. Author's Note

Hello everyone. Sorry it's taken so long to update this. I've been going through some things lately and it's just sapped my ability to write. First I lost my grandfather on the 9th of November. We knew for a week it would happen and he lasted the whole week. His last words to me were that he loved me. From a man who found it literally difficult to speak sometimes, it meant a lot.

Due to that and the christmas season, anxiety played up as well as over stuff, theres more to it but I feel it's important to tell you guys in case you were just thinking I'd given up on the fic. I haven't, but it's just been really hard. That and the mess that was applying to uni. Always make sure you're enrolled if doing it online. Or you'll be waiting months to find out you weren't even enrolled in the whole course in the first place. (it was a massive mess, I had to contact student advocacy and now have to wait till mid year :/ )

A lot of you messaged me about being a beta, I'm so sorry I never got back to you, hopefully my creative spark will come back and I'll be able to get writing again.

Sorry If I got you excited because there was a new chapter. Hope to be back to writing real soon!

YourLoyalBlogger

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art: ZombieLock](https://archiveofourown.org/works/875963) by [pandora_gold](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pandora_gold/pseuds/pandora_gold)




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